Of Frogs, Snails, and Puppy Dog Tails
by A Classy Girl
Summary: Z-POV Ever wanted to hear what Zach's life is like? Here you go. From him as a kid, to his days at Blackthorne, all the way to all that drama with Cammie. "I know I'm not wrong when I say that girls are absolutely insane." T for language!
1. Prologue

**I've been planning on writing a story from Zach's perspective for a while. And today, I decided I might as well start now.**

**Here Comes the Spy is going to remain my priority, however, so I don't know how often I'll be able to update.**

**I realize this chapter is really short, but it's the prologue so the others will be longer. I promise. This is just introducing you to the story, okay? Okay.  
**

**

* * *

**

**Of Frogs, Snails, and Puppy Dog Tails**

A Recount of Zachary Goode's Life to Date

_What are little boys made of?_

_What are little boys made of?_

_Frogs and snails_

_And puppy-dogs' tails,_

_That's what little boys are made of._

_What are little girls made of?_

_What are little girls made of?_

_Sugar and spice_

_And all that's nice,_

_That's what little girls are made of._

I could tell you countless things about that piece. How it came about in the nineteenth century and is attributed to Robert Southey. How its words have evolved over time. How its just a single part of one long-ass poem.

What I can't tell you is what the hell the man was high on when he wrote it.

Last time I checked, my skin wasn't slimy with mucus, I didn't walk at the slowest pace known to the world, and I didn't have damn tail wagging out of my ass. You never know though; maybe I overlooked those things.

But I know I'm not wrong when I say that girls are absolutely _insane._ Definitely not made of everything nice.

..^.^..

I came from a somewhat dysfunctional family. There were the usual marital spats between my parents and the nights where my dad slept on the couch as is usual with all married couples. Then there were the times when they fought so loudly that I could hear it from my secret spot at the top of the giant oak tree in our backyard. Sometimes, there would be a crash of silverware or plates. Once, one of them broke a chair.

I guess I passed it off as normal for our type of family. I didn't have anything to compare it to as none of the kids on our block had CIA parents. And even if they did, I wasn't friends with any them.

The climax of these fights came in March of second grade. I was outside, making a rough outline for an ambush on a terrorist nuclear plant (just like every other kid my age did for fun). I could tell from the sound of my parents' voices that this fight was different than the others. There was something like desperateness in my father's and lethalness in my mother's. And then, as quickly as their voices rose up, they cut off.

I remembered dropping my pencil and paper onto the damp grass and looking to the kitchen window looking out into our backyard. The eyelet curtains closed off my view, so I picked my tools up again and went back to playing. I wasn't interested enough to go all the way over to the house to ask what was going on.

I should've been. Mom had me buckled in the car by the end of the night. We took four duffel bags with us, and only one of those was filled with clothes.

We didn't talk about or see Dad before we left. In fact, we never would again.

..^.^..

We traveled for the next four and a half years, stopping in various cities and only staying in them for a few months at the most. I wasn't stupid. I knew my mother was working on ops and not ones for the CIA. But I was kid and inclined to think the best of her.

Finally, the summer before I was to start seventh grade, my mother sat me down. She told me about the Blackthorne Institute for Young Men. That it was a school for boys to go to where they learned how to be a spy, to be an assassin. That I would be going there in the fall.

"I can't teach you everything you need to know," She said from across the table. She was leaning back in chair, relaxed and not at all worried about sending her son off to learn how to be a killer. "I don't have enough time for that, Zachary."

I knew why she didn't have time. In the months leading up to that conversation, she'd been busy at work. Working on another one of her rogue missions.

"I know," I told her. I didn't think about what might happen at Blackthorne. I didn't think about the fact that she said I'd learn to be an assassin. All I thought about was the fact that soon, I wouldn't be living with her anymore. And for some reason, I felt relieved.

..^.^..

Blackthorne was like nothing I had ever seen before. Mom had had to let me out of the car before the gates, and so as I walked down the long road to the school, I was able to take it in fully.

All of the boys were clothed in jumpsuits of the worst possible yellow color. The fence around the school's perimeter was like one you might see at prison. The building had a grey exterior and a low-sloping roof. Any regular passersby would see it as exactly what it strived to appear as: a detention center for juvenile teenage boys.

I readjusted the bag on my shoulder. The sound of the gates opening alerted me to the car approaching behind me and I stepped to the left of the road. The car slowed as it came up to me and the back window rolled down.

"Hey," A boy my age said from the car. He was scrawny with a neat part in his hair and nerdy glasses. Definitely a research type spy. "Need a lift to the doors?"

"Nah, I'm good." I said. I wasn't here to make friends. I wasn't even here by choice.

The boy in the car gave a little frown. "You sure?" I nodded. "Well, then I'll walk with you."

I almost protested but thought better of it. If the boy wanted to walk, he could walk. But that didn't mean I was going to talk to him.

Unfortunately—or maybe it actually was fortunate—I did end up talking to him. And that is how I made my first real friend. Jonas.

* * *

**Leave your thoughts.**

**I've been diagnosed with this thing called Reviewitis. I can't update until I get at least 10 reviews. :)  
**


	2. Chapter 1

**Sorry the update was delayed. I can't promise that'll change but I can promise to always update eventually. There's only so many hours in the day, you know?**

**Anyways, thanks to everyone who reviewed! You guys are like rainbows. You make the rain so worth it.**

**I'd also like to say thank you to my beta-reader for their input on this chapter. They brought some things to my attention that I hope (and think) made the chapter better.**

**ENJOY!**

* * *

Chapter One

Seventh grade was full of new experiences. I had to actually put forth effort to do my homework because while my mother had taught me more about military and ambush strategies than any twelve year old needed to know, I was lost when it came to wiring bugs and writing encrypted code. I shared a room with four other boys: Jonas, Grant, Benji, and Clive. We were an odd assortment of boys but quickly befriended one another and got into a few messes (one of which involved the Headmaster, his hat, and some very questionable, very smelly socks). For the first time in my life, I was free of my mother and truly felt at peace despite the rigorous schedule.

When spring ended and summer began, I was sad to leave. Jonas, Grant, and I walked down the school's long driveway together. "We'll keep in touch, man," Jonas said at the gates.

I shrugged, not letting on anything. "Whatever."

Grant grunted a little, trying to keep up a façade that he was some macho man.

"Well, see you two next year then," Jonas said. His ride was waiting on the other side of the gates to take him back home to Montana, and he walked towards it. He gave one last wave to Grant and me before getting in the car.

Grant left a couple minutes later. His parents were working some OP in Bosnia so he was going to spend the summer with his aunt who lived on a small farm in Wisconsin. I, on the other hand, had no idea where I was going. All I knew was that I had to wait where my mother had dropped me off at the beginning of the school year for her to pick me up. From that point, I supposed I would end up tagging along as she went from place to place, checking the operations that were being executed.

That was how things went more or less. She picked me up at dusk and we drove all through the night. She asked me how the school year went, what I learned. She quizzed me on the best ways to assassinate various political leaders. Sniper shot, poison, knife in the rib-cage. We spent all summer doing that. She questioned me, I answered.

When I went back to Blackthorne in the fall, I felt I'd learned more in those three months than I had in my entire seventh grade year.

Grant had apparently learned something new, too. He would not stop saying things like "Bro, your aura is so shiny" and "Bring it home, daddy-yo". I just hoped the hippie phase didn't last long. Thankfully, it didn't. On our third day back, he happened to mention that Captain Maver, the deputy principal and CoveOps teacher had quite the purple mood which obviously meant that Maver was overjoyed to have us back. Maver was quick to set Grant straight, saying that if he ever said anything about auras and physic powers again within the walls of Blackthorne, his skin would be purple with bruises.

Maver never was a very happy person.

By the end of the week, Grant had found a new (and less annoying) habit. He became absolutely obsessed with setting up traps for Jonas to get stuck in. The problem was that Jonas was a very perceptive boy despite his lack of any other field skills and was able to sidestep the booby traps. Needless to say, their new game occupied a lot of their time.

This left me with not much to do after I was finished with homework because while I wished I could have joined in with my two friends I couldn't bring myself to do so. Something about the game rubbed me the wrong way and brought back memories I didn't want to face.

But that didn't stop them from coming. Snapshots of my childhood on the road constantly flew around in my head. I saw my mother sitting at a rickety motel table immersed in complicated data sheets that I couldn't understand. Dark alleys and flickering street lights as she argued down the road with shadows whose faces I didn't want to see. And traps, I saw endless traps with words and actions and carefully calculated emotions.

Nothing in my mother's world was honest.

I hated it.

I took to wandering the halls as I thought. One particularly troublesome night, I snuck out of bed to roam the halls and brought Benji along. I sometimes found him easier to talk to than my other friends as he always spoke his mind. Plus, he was practically an insomniac and the only one who was ever up as late as I was.

That night, we found ourselves discussing what any other eighth grade boy does. Girls. "I just don't understand them," Benji whispered as we crept down the dark halls. "It's like they say the exact opposite of what they mean."

"Does that mean when a bride says 'I do', she actually means 'I don't'?" I joked. Benji rolled his eyes, not appreciating my humor.

"Be serious here, Zach. I need advice on how to deal with this. There's this lass back home I like and I don't know how to act around her."

I stopped at the end of hall and turned to him. "You want me to be serious and then you use the word lass. Really?" He frowned at me, so I moved on. "My advice would be to just be straight with her. Girls like all that honesty shit."

"So, I should tell her that I don't actually go to a prep school in Utah but to a government sanctioned assassin school?"

"Yes, tell her exactly that. Then, when she faints, you'll catch her and keep her from hitting her head on the floor. Your heroic actions will sweep her off her feet. Literally and metaphorically."

We started heading back to our rooms and were quiet for a few moments. Then he said, "Do you think there's a school out there for girls that's like ours."

"Of course there is. Not all spies are men, after all."

He considered this for a moment and we turned onto our hall. "Do you think they get as confused about us as we get by them?"

When we reached our door, I delayed him from opening the door for a moment by stepping in front of it. "Girls are, simply put, much complicated than boys are. So, my answer is no. They do not find us nearly as difficult." With that, I opened the door myself, and we slipped into the room, our three roommates none the wiser as to our late night chat.

~.~.~.~

"Dude, I'm telling you, Angelina Jolie is hands down hotter than Jennifer Aniston," Grant said, pounding his fist against the desk for emphasis. He, Jonas, and I were in the library supposedly working on our final for the required eighth grade Code Deciphering course, but we were, in fact, debating which girl was hotter. "I mean, Aniston has her strong points but Jolie is just the whole package."

"Oh, please," Jonas said. "You're just saying that because you have a soft spot for adoptive parents." He looked at Grant with a mock-sternness and said in his best impersonation of Captain Maver, "That'll get you killed, boy."

"Jonas, man, I thought that you for sure would take my side on this! I mean, she's a do-gooder and all, and…"

"And what?"

Grant shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I thought you went for the smart kind of girl."

"Are you saying Jennifer Aniston is stupid?" Jonas exclaimed, sounding oddly offended.

"No, no. I'm just saying that she's not _as smart_ as Angelina Jolie."

Jonas crossed his arms and glared at Grant. Grant sighed and turned to me. "What about you, man? We need your deciding vote here."

I pretended to weigh the options for a moment. "Personally, neither are my type."

Grant spluttered. "Goode, are you blind?"

I squinted and said, "No, vision is as clear as usual."

"Then why aren't they your type. Seriously." Grant acted as though I'd committed a federal crime (which, I guess to him, I had).

"Well, for one. I sort of want someone around my age…"

Jonas laughed. "No way. You are totally a cougar man."

I picked up a loose rubber band from the pile of crap that had taken over the table and flicked it at him. It hit him square in the forehead, and immediately, the skin started to redden.

Jonas's hand flew up to feel the stinging spot. "Not cool, man." He scrunched his face up like he was five days constipated, but a smile shone through. The three of us could never get mad at one another. For better or for worse, we were (for lack of a better word) bros.

I was sad the year was coming to an end. It would be another three months before I received even a word from them as my mother didn't keep an address. She was always on the move. Never stopping to rest. The only reason we ever stayed so long in one place was so that I could get a semblance of an education. She was too busy to teach me all of the elementary school shit, and I wouldn't have wanted her to anyways.

I sighed a little, and Grant and Jonas looked at me oddly. They didn't know much about my past, just that it wasn't the best of childhoods, and I planned to keep it that way. I wasn't ready to air my family's dirty laundry. I wasn't ready to lose the only friends that I had ever had.

Because I knew without a doubt that if they ever found out the type of person that my mom was, they would never speak to me again. Say what you will about Blackthorne and its alumni, but Grant and Jonas were new kinds of students here. They believed in doing the right thing and never betraying their country. What would they think if they found out my mother was against everything they stood for?

* * *

** I don't know when I'll be able to post next. I still have to finish my next chapter for Here Comes the Spy and keep up with my homework.**

**But REVIEW, and I'll be more INSPIRED!**


	3. Chapter 2

**Here you are. Thanks for all your patience with my delayed updates. A bad internet connection and a bad memory do not make a good combination.**

* * *

Chapter 2

"Zachary."

The voice called to me from the end of a long, dark hall. I walked toward it but never got any closer.

"_Zachary._"

I started to run but something was off. The faster I went, the slower I wanted to go. My feet dragged and suddenly I was falling down, down, down…

"Zachary!" I shot up from bed at my mother's yell. She was standing beside the rickety motel bed I had been sleeping in just seconds before. Her mouth was set in a stern frown, and she was already dressed. I glanced at the clock which told me that it was only four in the morning. She must have a meeting then.

"Good, you're up," She said, turning away from me and grabbing her purse. "I'll be back by noon. I want you to prepare our bags and be ready to leave immediately upon my return. Is that clear?"

For a moment, I considered telling her that it wasn't and that she might just have to restate her orders in a nicer tone. Then I remembered that while she was my mother, she was also unreasonable and wouldn't hesitate to show me that back talk got me nowhere. "Yeah, all clear." I said. She nodded and exited the room. I didn't bother lying back down. I wasn't tired anymore.

When she got back eleven minutes before noon, I didn't ask any questions about where she'd been. I just grabbed our two bags, dropped them into the trunk of our nondescript rental, and buckled myself into the passenger seat. Then, with no words said between us, we were gone from the run-down motel. It was as if we had never been there.

And that was how my first day of ninth grade began.

-.-.-.-

"This is never going to work; I suck at this," Jonas whispered. We were in the middle of a practical exam on our basic field skills. He and I had been paired up. It wasn't going so well. "Maybe I should just go back inside. I could go program a new computer game or something. Or hack into Langley. I've always wanted to do that but—"

I cut him off. If Jonas started going on about technology, he would never stop. "Jonas, shut it."

"Right, right." He nodded quickly and stopped talking. All was well for a few seconds until he started shifting next to me. I turned my head towards him and watched him squirm in his crouch. He caught my eye and had the decency to look ashamed. "Sorry. I just…I can't stay still, you know?"

I didn't actually. I was perfectly capable of staying in my position for a good few hours. There was something peaceful about keeping watch in the middle of the night. The slight chill in the air seemed to heighten all of my senses and I noticed more than ever the sway of the tree branches and the twinkling of the stars.

The sight of a shadow of someone brought me back to the task at hand. I motioned to Jonas to keep it down and started army crawling in the ditch we were positioned in toward the shadow. As I got closer I could hear the murmuring voices of two partners as they debated where the others might be.

_Closer than you know, boys. Closer than you know._

The two voices started to fade away and I knew they were walking away from me. I saw my chance and silently rose and raced after them. They never saw me coming, and before you could say "Ninja Assassin", I had them taken out. I took the flags from their belt and then slipped back into the shadows and back down into the ditch where Jonas was still hiding.

I had this game in the bag. None of my classmates were going to be able to beat me.

Not for the first time I wondered if that was something to be proud of.

-.-.-.-

Soon after that exam, the first snowfall came. Then winter break came and my friends headed back to their homes. I left too but this time Mom didn't pick me up. She had sent word to me that she would be gone on one of her trips and unable to be with, so I just went to the nearest hotel and holed up there the entire time.

Winter passed and spring came. With it came a shift in the daily routine at Blackthorne. They started switching things up. There were times when they would randomly come into our rooms and force us out of beds for weapons practice or impromptu quizzes. We barely had enough time to finish our assignments and chores let alone sleep, but we knew better than to complain.

"If you think this year is hard, then you won't make it through next year," Colonel Leonard said. He was the Weapons Professor at Blackthorne and made sure everyone knew it. He had a tough love attitude and was constantly harassing the less field-gifted students. "If you can't make it through sophomore year, you sure as hell won't make it on the field. So you better man up, or stand aside."

The inner me, the one that felt the need to speak up for the little guy but didn't have the strength or courage to do so, wanted to tell the Colonel where he could man up. Or shove it. But I never said anything and just went along with their orders because as much as I hated the teachers at Blackthorne, I had no where else to go. Blackthorne was really the one place where I felt some semblance of belonging.

And so I kept my yapper shut and my eyes open.

Finally (and sadly), ninth grade started to come to a close. At least as far as the weather was concerned. The teachers still worked us just as hard, if not more so. As finals week approached, the sporadic drills the staff had been laying on us came more and more frequently until six out of seven nights were spent out in the dark of night, taking aim or taking point or running laps.

"This is going to be the death of me," Grant said after one long night out on the uneven grounds of the institute. "I consider myself a pretty agile guy, but seriously? They want me to climb that tree with a rifle and an entire array of technological crap that to be honest, I don't really know how to use? Nope, not happening."

He was referring to the fact that Captain Maver had ordered him to climb the giant oak tree that we boys had dubbed Fred back in eighth grade. The tree was massive and didn't have any branches until it was a good nine feet up from the ground.

"Oh, don't be a pansy, Goodman," Jonas said. "The exercise is good for your…" Jonas tried to find some way that climbing the tree could be seen as a good thing.

"Good for your cardio?" Benji offered.

Jonas snapped his fingers and exclaimed, "Yes! Good for your cardio. Plus," His eyes narrowed as he focused in on Grant. "That 'technological crap' as you so kindly put it is very easy to use, I can show you. _And_ I would just like to point out that I carry that very same model of equipment around with me every day and it doesn't weigh half as much as your fat head."

"Whoa, burn!" Clive called out from the mountain of covers he was buried under in his bed.

Grant scowled at the smug look on Jonas' face and flopped down on his own bed. "I don't have to explain myself to you or to anyone."

Benji and I exchanged a quick grin. "Okay," I said. "I think we're all about passed out. So let's call it a night and finish this conversation in the morning."

Clive called out, "Whatever, _Mom_" at the same moment that Jonas said, "It _is_ the morning."

It wasn't until several minutes later when the lights were out and we were all almost asleep that Grant said, "I'd like to see Maver climb Fred."

In the past nine months of the school year, not once had Captain Maver participated in any of our drills. In fact, he had gained a few pounds around his waist (and it sure wasn't muscle). So when the school year ended and I piled into my mom's car of the week, I held on to that image of Captain Maver flailing around on Fred, trying to grab that first branch.

_You go, Maver._

_

* * *

_

**So I think in the next three or four chapters, I'll introduce Cammie. Now that I'm closer to sohpomore year, I'll start slowing things down a bit.**

**See ya next chapter. :)**


	4. Chapter 3

**I know, I know. I'm a terrible person for not updating in so long. I'm really sorry about that...and also sorry that it might be like this until April or May.**

**What can I say, school is like the Mordred to my Arthur. It will be my _downfall_.**

* * *

When I was little, I always wanted to live on a farm. I'm not sure exactly why; I think the idea of going outside, seeing land all around me, and knowing that it was mine just really excited me. The desire to own a farm never dissipated as I grew older but the reasons for wanting such an amount of property did change.

For instance, while sitting across from my mother in a booth of a darkly-lit diner I decided I wanted a farm to get away from her. Just her.

I'm not completely sure when I first started to resent my mother in extreme measures but I have narrowed it down to around the time right after ninth grade ended about two months prior to moment her and I were sitting there.

Ever since she had picked me up from Blackthorne at the end of the semester she had been hinting at me getting into the "family business". If that didn't sound akin to me joining up with the mafia, I didn't know what did. Nonetheless, her intimations had been increasing in rapidity until one day I was sitting across a diner booth from her and very close to hating her.

She picked her laminated menu up from the diner table and scanned its contents. After a few moments of silence she offered some small talk. The only kind of small talk she seemed able to give at that point. "Have you thought any more on what your plans are after school, Zachary?"

I barely managed to keep from rolling my eyes at the question and her continued insistence on using my full first name. I answered her question as smoothly as I could. "I thought I might just hang low for a while." _Lie._ I had my sights set on joining the CIA and being a _loyal _citizen to my country. But my mother didn't need to know that.

Her eyes left her menu and met mine as she quirked an eyebrow. "Oh, really? Then what is all this schooling for, exactly? Do you think that Blackthorne is just letting you roam their halls for some good times and preparation for 'hanging low'?"

"I'd hardly call roaming the Blackthorne halls fun, mother."

"Zachary, don't be pert with me. I'm trying to have an important conversation with you regarding your future." She leaned back in her seat, seemingly distraught about my lack of interest to talk about my options. Neither of us said a word until the waitress came to take our orders.

After I had ordered my burger and Mom a salad, she returned to our conversation. "Perhaps I can arrange something and have you tag along on a mission or two of mine this summer." Her voice sounded hopeful, but I knew better than to think that it was because of the possibility of her spending more time with me. Almost to herself she said, "I'll call up Tom and set it all up."

"I don't want that." I said. She tilted her head at me, as if confused.

"What?"

Her eyes were narrowed to little slits, and I got the uncomfortable feeling that she was trying to see past my face and into my head, right into my thoughts. I fidgeted in my seat trying to dispel the sensation. "I said I don't—"

"I heard what you said." My mother's voice had gone deadly cold. "I just don't accept that."

I tried to hold my tongue but still found myself responding. "Well, it's not you're decision."

Her fists clenched and for a second I thought she might attack me. If we hadn't been in public I'm sure she would have gone for a slap but the waitress who had taken our orders was back and setting the food in front of us. I think the waitress must have noticed the tension between my mother and me because her eyes darted quickly back and forth between the two of us before scurrying off.

_Yes, run while you still can_, I thought. Lord knows I wished I could.

I looked down at my food. The meat was a grayish color and the bun looked like someone had dropped it on the floor a time or two. It was disgusting to look at but more bearable than keeping eye contact with my mother.

Damn, she was scary.

"Not my decision?" Her tone was like ice. I had to fight back the urge to shiver. "I'm your mother. All decisions you make should be approved by me."

I rolled my eyes. "That's not being a parent; that's being a dictator."

I expected her to shout, get red with anger in the face, upend the table, something. Instead, she just sat there and stared at me. For a second, I thought that I'd actually hurt her feelings and felt a twinge of guilt. Then I remembered she was Satan and couldn't feel and the guilt went away.

We ate the rest of our meal in silence. Or, to be perfectly honest, Mom shifted her salad around on the plate with her fork, and I opted to nibble on my greasy fries instead of daring to touch my disgusting looking burger. When we were done and paid for, we walked out of the diner silently into the humid night air. Mom had ditched our car a few days earlier so we had to walk back to the hotel we were staying at.

As we started out she began talking again. "Zachary, I understand that at your age you might not want to associate yourself with your old mom. But, son, what I'm trying to teach you has to do so much more with your future, not your present. I only push these ideas on you because I want what's best for you."

I wanted so badly to snap back with the good old "what's best for me or best for you?" but she was still going.

"You think that the world is yours for the taking right now, but it's not. You have to understand that with every action there is a consequence. And the consequences for saying you don't want to continue in my footsteps are vast indeed, my boy. That's why I think that shadowing one of my agents would be good for you. You could see what it's really like to go on a mission." She rolled her eyes and smiled at me like we were sharing a funny anecdote. "Not those trial tests they have you do at school."

I sighed and said the one thing I knew would pacify her. "Alright, I'll think about it."

She gave smiled beatifically at me. It was one of the few genuine smiles I've ever seen my mother give.

It's just too bad she was smiling at a lie.

..^.^..

Work soon distracted my mother away from pestering me. She didn't tell me much but from the snippets I overheard as she conferred with her colleagues I concluded it had something to do with a certain Matthew Morgan. I'd never heard of the man before but I hoped he was still, well…alive.

The summer drew to an end and September began. My mom dropped me off at the usual spot and I walked the familiar trek to Blackthorne. After I crossed the school's threshold and was encompassed by the tall barbed-wire fence I glanced back over my shoulder. Mom's car wasn't within sight but I couldn't help but feel as if she was still watching me, her eyes trying to bore into my mind and figure out what made it tick.

I shivered despite the heat of the day and hurried to Blackthorne's main building. At least there, within the stone walls of the school, I can feel some semblance of safety. Some semblance of comfort.

I hand came down on my shoulder and I repressed the instinct to flip the person over my shoulder. Instead, I turned around to see the smiling face of Grant Goodman. I smiled in return, pleased to see a familiar and happy face. "'Sup, homedog," he said.

Okay, maybe I shouldn't be so pleased.

..^.^..

"Damn, that hurts," Jonas said. He was nursing his arm as we walked back our room to get ready for dinner. "I don't see why Clive always has to hit me so hard."

"He's preparing to hit people like that for a living, Jonas," Benji said. "It's be stupid of him not to fight you as he would in real life."

Jonas made a childish face at Benji which would have been more effective if he hadn't run into the corner of the wall a second later. "Ah, my forehead!"

"Well, at least now he'll stop whining about that freaking arm of his." Grant mumbled. I started to chuckle but quickly stifled it as the giant shadow of Colonel Leonard loomed up in front of my friends and me. The four of us halted in our tracks as the Colonel came closer and closer.

"Boys," he said in that gravelly tone of his that made him sound like he'd been smoking a cigar for the last fifteen years. "Change of plans. You will not report to your quarters. You will report to the Headmaster's office immediately." The four of us nodded and began to turn around when the Colonel added, "Except you, Mr. Cooper."

Benji stopped and a shadow of confusion crossed his face before he was able to cover it up. I hesitated as he started to turn to continue to our room, but he just shrugged. "Go on, Goode. I'll see you guys back in the room." He gave a little laugh. "Hell, it's probably a good thing the Headmaster doesn't want to see me. The last time a kid was sent to his office, they left with a bloody nose."

"Yeah, you're probably right," I said. I tried to sound like I agreed completely but both of us knew I didn't. As hard as it was for me to say, Benji wasn't the shiniest tool in the box. He held his own but we all knew he was going to have a desk job after he graduated.

Grant and Jonas had reached the end of the hall by then and were calling for me. I said goodbye to Benji and went to catch up with my other roommates. "He okay?" Jonas asked.

"He will be."

It took us another ten minutes to work our way through the complicated halls of Blackthorne to the Headmaster's office. We entered the antechamber of his office and said hello to Miss Nightingale. She was one of the four women on the whole premises of the institute and also the kindest. Boys were always making jokes that it would be worth it to get in trouble and sent to the Headmaster's office just to see her smile. I cared to disagree. There was something about Miss Nightingale that reminded me of a wolf.

Her eyes glittered mischievously as she smiled at my friends and me. "The Headmaster will be with you in just a moment, boys. Take a seat." She gestured to the wall across from her where there was a hard, wooden bench squeezed into the small space.

We sat down, Grant and Jonas on either side of me. It was a tight fit, with Jonas' bony elbow digging into the lower half of my rib cage and Grant's burly build pushing me further into aforementioned elbow. The situation was short-lived, however, as a couple moments later the door leading into the main office opened and the Headmaster exited. He was followed by two upperclassmen I had sometimes seen in the halls or during dinnertime.

"Excellent conversation, boys. Just excellent," the Headmaster said. "It's wonderful to have you on board."

Both of the upperclassmen nodded enthusiastically. I expected the Headmaster to snap out at them about decorum and maintaining a certain level of aloofness, but instead he just bounced his head up and down with them.

The boys left the antechamber and the Headmaster leaned over Miss Nightingale's desk to whisper something in her ear that I couldn't hear. Then he turned to us and smiled. "Let's go into my office. I've got a proposition for you."

* * *

**I just want to give a big thank you to all you readers, not just reading this story but for also being so patient with my wanting updating skills.**

**You guys are A-W-E-S-O-M-E. Truly.**


	5. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4!**

**About time, right? Sorry for the wait. School's a bitch (and _FINALLY_ over). Thanks for all of your patience and a special thanks to watching the starlight for being my beta! :)**

* * *

I'm sure there's a moment in every person's life when they know everything is about to change. Where they look back on their life up to that point and know that it's never going to be the same. Sitting in the Headmaster's office was not that moment for me. The moment that changed how everything would play out for me would come later…but now I'm getting ahead of myself.

Let me rewind and explain.

See, I had grown up hearing all about Gallagher Academy for Exceptional Young Women. Bedtime was one of the few times when my mother actually acted like my mother. After tucking me in and sitting down on the edge of my bed, she would start telling me all these wonderful stories about her alma mater. I would drift off to sleep every night with images of majestic stone walls and the ghostly echo of my mom's laugh dancing around in my brain.

I remember once when I was six, I asked my mother when I would go to Gallagher. She just laughed, pinched my cheek, and said, "Oh, Zachary. You're a boy, silly goose."

"So?" I had said, upset because she was laughing at me and because I could still feel the tingle of the pinch on my cheek.

"Boys don't go to Gallagher. They go to Blackthorne."

"What's Blackthorne?" That brought about another round of laughter from my mom. My feelings hurt, I stormed away from her in all the glorious ruckus that an upset six-year-old can make.

Eventually I came to understand what made my mother laugh that day. Girls had their place in the world: Gallagher. Guys had their place: Blackthorne. So imagine my slight confusion when the Headmaster announced to Grant, Jonas, and I that we were being shipped off to Gallagher after winter break.

"Are you serious?" I asked.

"Does this look like a joking face to you?" Headmaster Sanders tried to master his face into a stern expression, something he usually excelled at. Today, however, he seemed too happy to act down.

I went along with it. "No, sir."

"Excellent." He said. A bright, white smile appeared on his face. "Now, boys, I know I don't need to explain why it's important for you to be on your best behavior while attending Gallagher Academy."

"Well, actually," Grant spoke up to my left and shifted forward in his seat. "If you don't mind, Headmaster, I am somewhat curious as to why we're going to Gallagher in the first place. Or why you're asking us." He waved his hand out to indicate the three of us sitting across from Headmaster Sanders' desk.

"I don't mind at all!" The Headmaster exclaimed. Damn was he freaking exuberant over this or what. "It's simple, really. One day, you'll be working alongside the young women attending Gallagher. And one day, they'll be working alongside you. Why not be preemptive and start forming bonds and ties with each other now so the connection flows easily on missions in your adulthood?"

He continued. "And why am I picking you three specifically to represent your class? You insult yourself for even thinking of that question, Mr. Goodman! You, Zachary, and Jonas are the top three students of your class. I'd be insane _not _to choose you for this opportunity."

"So…will there be girls from Gallagher coming here?" Jonas asked. I knew what he was thinking. Blackthorne was no place for a Gallagher Girl. Even if they were being trained to the best spies of their generation, they lived in a mansion and had their every need tended to. At Blackthorne, we were lucky if we got a few minutes of hot water and a couple hours sleep each night.

Headmaster Sanders was quick to assure that negative. "Oh, no, no, no…Headmistress Morgan and I both agreed it would be best to keep it to just a few boys spending the spring semester at Blackthorne. At least to start."

Jonas nodded and then the room was quiet. It seemed Grant and Jonas had no more questions for Sanders and I had had none to begin with. I glanced surreptitiously at my watch, not because I needed to know the time but because it was something to do.

"So?" Headmaster Sanders said after a minute and twenty-seven seconds. "Are you in?"

..^.^..

"Dude, this is going to be awesome!"

"You've said that already, Grant. Half a dozen times."

"I know but that's only because it's going to be so awesome, Jonas. I can't shut up about it."

"Well, I wish you would. Every time you say that, your voice goes up an octave at the end and you sound like a hyena."

"You sound like a hyena."

"No, you do!'

"No—"

I rolled my eyes. "You both sound like hyenas. Shut up."

"Jeez," Grant said. "Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. Do we need a little nap, Zachary?"

I ignored him and returned to packing my bags. Winter break was beginning in the morning and I was scheduled to meet my mother in Nebraska. She'd sent me a coded note stating that she had arranged the transportation already.

Why we were meeting in Nebraska was beyond my knowledge. I had long ago stop trying to understand my mother's motives for the things she did. I was starting to believe that she didn't even really have a motive; she just enjoyed hurting others.

"Zach, are you even listening?" Grant asked. He grabbed the pair of jeans I held out of my hands and tossed them on my bed. "I'm trying to socialize with you."

"That's an awfully big word there, Grant. Are you sure you know what it means?"

He gave me a look that clearly said he didn't appreciate my teasing. "As I was saying earlier, what do you think the girls are gonna be like?"

I sighed. This again. It had been three days since we'd been called to the Headmaster's office. "I don't know, Grant. I guess we'll see once we get there."

"I bet they're hot. Especially if they wear uniforms. Wow, now I've got that image in my head. Yeah, I like it." Then his eyes widened. "Shit, man. What if they're, like, super ripped? What if they have elephant arms?"

"Then, I guess we won't have to worry about getting distracted from our studies." I flashed him smirk, and he took a swipe at me.

We fell into a wrestling match that ended with me managing to get him stuck in a headlock. He yielded, and I laughed, releasing him.

"There, I knew I could do it." He grinned and brushed imaginary dust off his shoulders.

"Do what?"

"Make you laugh. You've been so glum these past few days. The guys and I were starting to wonder if we'd ever see your pearly whites again."

"Well, they've returned so you guys can stop chattering about me."

"But then what will we do with our free time?"

I chucked a pillow at him, but he caught it easily. His face sobered a bit and said, "But seriously, man, are you alright?"

I paused in my packing. Was I alright? I suppose I had been acting a little off the past few days. As cliché and idiotic as it sounded, I couldn't shake the feeling that something big was about to go down.

And then, in a downward spiral of events, something did happen.

* * *

**Reviews nourish the imagination.**


	6. Chapter 5

**Hope you enjoy! Thanks to watching the starlight yet again for betaing this chapter. I'm not infallible and am glad there's someone there to catch my errors.**

* * *

Chapter 5.

"Eyes on target."

My mom's voice crackled through the comms unit situated in my ear. I was currently scrunched into a ditch off the side of the gravel road, peering through some wild grasses at the two story farmhouse a couple hundred yards ahead of me.

"Copy that." I said. Ahead of me, I saw the slight movement of the grass and knew my mother was creeping closer to the house for a better view.

"Keep look out, kid." She murmured to me.

As I turned my head around to keep an eye on any approaching cars, a screen door was thrown open and someone barreled out of the farmhouse towards the barn. The door slammed shut, disturbing a small flock of geese. _That must be the target,_ I thought, _I wonder what Mom wants with them._

After a hundred twenty-seven minutes and eighteen seconds of lookout, I was just starting to feel cramps forming in my legs. The slightest traces of boredom were starting to take root in my mind when I saw it. The small dust cloud down the gravel road that could only mean one thing.

"Incoming car."

My mother uttered an oath and then started giving out orders to the three others with us. All the while, the car got closer and closer. I could make out its size first, then its color, then its license plate. Finally it zoomed past me. I followed it with my eyes as my mother reached me.

"Come on, Zachary." She said, grabbing my bicep. "Time to go."

I let her lead me back to where our transport was hidden. I looked over my shoulder right before I lost view of the farmhouse to see the car stop and a woman get out of the driver's door. She called out something, but it was too far away to hear.

And then, the house was gone, and my mother and I were darting down rows of old, brittle corn.

When we reached our transport and started the drive to Lincoln, Mom turned her attention to the three others with us. She asked about various aspects of the farmhouse's security. One of her men chuckled and said, "For such strong connections with the CIA, the Morgans really are very poorly protected. I'm a little disappointed. It almost makes all of this too easy. And boring."

My mother's mouth twitched a little as though she were suppressing a smile. "I agree," she said. "And if we really want to shake them to the core, we need to strike where it hurts. A farmhouse in Nebraska won't do it. No, we'll continue with recon elsewhere."

As we neared Lincoln, she seemed to remember I was there and turned to me. She smiled and wrapped her arm around my shoulders. "You did well, Zach. Really well. You're going to be good one day; I can feel it."

The others in the car with us voiced their agreement and I couldn't help but feel…proud of myself.

Rogue mission or not, spying sent chills down my back. The good kind.

..^.^..

Mom had me stay in our hotel room in Lincoln, Nebraska for the rest of winter break. Every day she would wake at the crack of dawn, whisper goodbye to me, and then whisk out of the door. She didn't explain where she was going, when she'd be back, or what we were doing in Nebraska in the first place.

Then again, I didn't ask.

The time passed slowly. There was only so much I could do in a 10x20 room for an entire week. After redoing my homework three times and hacking into the NSA database, break was finally over.

The day before I was due back at Blackthorne, my mother took me to the airport. She drove up to the front doors and put the car in park, leaving it running. I gathered my duffel bag and had my hand on the handle when she grabbed my forearm.

"Hey," she said. "I don't even get a goodbye now?"

I sighed. "Bye, Mom."

I saw her reflection in the window. She was shaking her head, smiling. "I really feel the love in _that_."

_"Love?"_ I wanted to say. _"When was there ever love between us?"_

But even now, I couldn't bring myself to say that. Rogue or not, my mother was the only family I had. So, instead I said, "I should go. Security's a bitch."

Her reflection nodded and her iron grip relaxed. "Have fun at Gallagher."

I almost spun around to look at her. How did she know about that? I hadn't said a word about the exchange. But then again…Mom had friends in high places.

..^.^..

It was odd how Blackthorne had come to feel like home to me. Yes, the teachers had sticks up their asses and the coursework was grueling and a good night's rest was rare, but it was the only place that I had ever gotten a feeling of stability from since I was five years old and planning covert missions in my backyard.

I was just getting finished settling in for the short time that I'd be at Blackthorne for the term when Grant and Jonas crashed open our dorm door. Grant was beaming as he entered the room, his bulging duffel bag slung over his shoulder. Jonas was smiling too, though not quite as obnoxiously. He had his computer strapped across his chest and resting on his hip, a luggage bag rolling smoothly behind him.

"Hello, Zachary," Grant sighed. "How was your break?"

My mind flitted to the farmhouse and cramped hotel room. "Nothing out of the ordinary."

Grant sighed contentedly. He glanced at me and sighed once more. I rolled my eyes and said, "How was your break, Grant?"

He plopped his bag down on the floor and flung himself spread eagle across his bed. "Wonderful! Mom and Dad took me to France for some 'vacay'—" He made bunny ears with his fingers and looked pointedly at Jonas and me "—and then, of course, I had an excellent time sight seeing and…getting a feel for the French culture, if you know what I mean."

He grinned wickedly. Grant and his girls. I just hoped that one day he found a girl that could put him in his place. My eyes fell on Jonas who had settled himself on the edge of his own bed. He had his laptop balanced on his knees and was typing away like a maniac.

"What about you, Jonas? Anything exciting happen to you on your break?" I asked. Grant huffed, obviously put off that I didn't want to hear more details about him and some French wench.

Jonas looked up, surprised. "Wha—oh, no. Just stayed home; Christmas dinner was nice." He bit his lip and seemed to come to some kind of conclusion. "Okay, so maybe I did a little digging about Gallagher too but—"

Grant bounded off his bed and grabbed the computer. Jonas made a sound of protest but didn't make a move to snatch it back. "Find anything good?" Grant said excitedly. He frowned. "Dude, this is just a bunch of encryption!"

"The firewalls are a bitch. I've had to spend some time taking them down without alerting Langley." Grant grimaced and then handed the laptop back to Jonas.

"Well then get cracking, dear sir! We only have a week to read up on these girls, to learn them inside and out, to figure out their hearts' deepest desires and…you know…how to make them all hot and bothered for us."

I laughed but Jonas gave him a stern look. "Grant, this exchange isn't about seducing the ladies, it's about making connections."

"But I do want to make connections!"

"Just not the honorable kind of connections." I muttered.

That evening, the three of us made our way back to our room after dinner. Benji and Clive had headed to the library to talk about one of our assignments from over break so Grant, Jonas, and I decided to break through the rest of the firewalls that guarded the Gallagher information on the CIA database.

With a little bit of luck and a hell of a lot of encryption and coding, Jonas made a breakthrough and there on the laptop screen before us was a picture of the Gallagher Academy for Exceptional Young Women. Below it was the usual classification information (Level 6 Clearance) and some of the school's general information (Headmistress: Rachel Morgan; Founder: Gillian Gallagher).

"Is there a roster?" Grant asked. "With pictures?"

Jonas rolled his eyes but started searching for one. "No pictures that I can see but there is this…damn, more firewalls…" He looked at Grant and me as if asking permission.

Grant made impatient motions with his hands. "Well, then get on with it."

He nodded and got absorbed in breaking down the firewalls for another hour. In the mean time, Grant and I tossed a scale model of Radium back and forth. Finally, with a "Woot, woot!" and a fist pump, Jonas got through.

"Okay, no pictures but there is a list here. Coded, of course, but we can decipher that no problem." I jotted the list down on a spare sheet of notebook paper. Jonas and Grant huddled around me. With some bickering and many scribbles, we got the message decoded. At the top of the list was the name Cameron Morgan. It rung a bell in my mind, but I couldn't place where I had heard it before.

Grant in the meantime was reading the rest of the names. "Rebecca Baxter," he muttered. "Sounds pretty badass to me. I bet she's feisty." He grinned mischievously. "I can't wait to meet her."

Jonas rolled his eyes. "It's too bad this is all we can get. There isn't anything more on them. The only name I recognize here is Macey McHenry."

"The senator's daughter?" I asked, surprised. He just nodded. Then, before anyone could stop him, he closed out of Langley and shut his computer. He grabbed the sheet of paper still in Grant's clutches and ripped it into halves until all that was left was confetti.

Grant looked outraged. "What the fuck was that for man?"

"Because, believe it or not, I don't want to get to know all these girls through a computer. This exchange is meant for us to make connections for our future. How can we do that when we're violating their privacy?"

Grant shook his head. "We're training to be spies, Jonas man. We violate the privacy of all the people we know."

Despite how depressing that sounded, Grant had a point. The life the three of us were training for was hardly one that encouraged trust. On the other hand, it promoted self-reliance and the idea that it's one against the world so you better know what you're doing. I don't care what our judicial branch or whatever says; you're guilty until proven wrong.

Faith is for those who have been given something to believe in, and I haven't. Not yet, anyways.

Clive and Benji returned from the library just then, so Jonas and Grant stopped bickering like an old married couple. We all changed into our nightclothes and piled into our respective beds. As the sounds of Captain Maver roaming the hall outside, calling "Lights out!" penetrated the darkness of our room, my mind drifted back to the list Gallagher Girls' names.

_Cameron Morgan._ It was such familiar name. I could swear I'd heard it before…

Drowsiness was starting to creep into my body. My hands, settled on my stomach, slipped down on either side of me.

_Cameron Morgan…_

_Morgan…_

Morgan.

I shot up in bed. I knew where I'd heard the name before. My mother. Just this summer, she had talking with her superiors about a Matthew Morgan. And then, over break, the farmhouse we had staked out was owned by an old couple with the last name Morgan. Mother had said they had ties with the CIA.

And they had a granddaughter who stayed with them for vacation. Was she the person who came barreling out of the back door when I was on look out for my mom?

Something sour settled in the pit of my stomach. What was my mother up to?

And would I do anything to stop it?

"Zach?" Jonas croaked sleepily. "Is something wrong?"

My eyes shot to him. He was half-up, looking at me with concern. Around the room, I could see my other roommates in similar positions. Quickly, I regained control of myself. I forced my hands to release the sheets that I had only just then realized I was clutching in a death grip. I shook my head. "Nothing's wrong. Sorry to freak you out. I just got that feeling that I was falling, you know what I mean?"

"Oh, that's the worst." Clive said sympathetically.

We all lay back down. I stared up at the ceiling, my thoughts running rampant through my mind.

I had to find out more about what my mother was up to and why she was so interested in the Morgan family.

But the only way to do that was ask her.

* * *

**So what do you think? Does my Zach resemble Ally's right? If not, what could be improved?**

**Let me know what you think in a review! :)**


	7. Chapter 6

**Sorry, sorry, sorry for the long delay. This chapter's been done for a while but with school and other commitments, uploading it sort of went on the back burner.**

**Pardon any grammar/punctuation/spelling errors.**

**...And I should probably start doing this every chapter...**

**_Disclaimer! I don't own the wonderful Zach Goode or the Gallagher Girls or any of the other characters we love so much (no matter how much I wish I did)._  
**

* * *

Chapter 6

In case of emergencies, my mother had given me a way to contact her while I was at Blackthorne. Seeing as it had been a recruiting heaven for the Circle for decades, there were a number of staff members who were acquainted with her who could be trusted to get messages between her and me.

Until then, I'd never had the desire to use that message system. But hey, desperate times call for desperate measures. Right?

I felt uneasy as I crept along the deserted halls of Blackthorne the next night after the others had fallen asleep. In my pocket was the note for my mother and as I neared my destination, it seemed to gain weight, slowing me down. And the longer I had the note in my pocket, the less sure I was that I wanted to send it to my Mom.

Did I really want to find out what that mission in Nebraska had been about, and what—if anything—she had planned for this Morgan family? What would happen if it turned out her motives went against my belief system (which, let's face it, they often do)? What could I do?

And if I could do something, would I bother? For all my talk of being a better person than my mother, the more time I spent at Blackthorne the more unlikely that reality became. Every day, it seemed this school and its staff brought me closer and closer to the line that up until now, I had been very careful not to cross.

God, I didn't want to be my mother. But I wasn't sure I had the choice.

I took the note out of my pocket. I could rip it now and forget about all of this. I could go to Gallagher for the semester and pretend that I'd never heard of the Morgan family before. This could all be forgotten, nonexistent if I just ripped the paper.

But I couldn't. I guess there was more of my Mom in me than I thought. She was as curious as the cat, too.

I slipped the note under the door. A shadow fell on the light sneaking out from underneath it, and I snuck back down the hall, back to my dorm room and my sleeping, none-the-wiser friends.

As I lay down in my bed that night with the prospect of sleep far off I couldn't help but hope that my curiosity wouldn't lead to my downfall like it did the cat's.

..^.^..

The brush pass was smooth; I didn't realize there was a note in my pocket until I was grabbing out a pencil in my Cryptography lesson. I didn't read it for two more hours when I excused myself from lunch early to go to the bathroom. It was short, precise, and in my mother's handwriting.

_2345. Tombs._

_She must be nearby_, I thought. I'd only sent the note the night before last. Another boy entered the bathroom and I covertly stuffed the note in my mouth (thankfully it was on Evapopaper so it dissolved quickly).

That night I waited for my friends to fall asleep to sneak out of our room. I crept stealthily out of the building, narrowly avoiding a nasty run-in with Captain Maver. I finally got out of the building only to realize that the third years had been woken up for a midnight exercise. Hidden behind the bushes, I glanced at my watch, the minutes slipping away as the boys shot round after round.

_11:29…_

_ 11:32…_

_ 11:37…_

Colonel Leonard called the boys to him at the entrance to Blackthorne's armory (yes, we had an actual armory). While everyone was grabbing their things I darted for the cover of the trees and the pathway that led to the entrance of the tombs.

I'd never been in the tombs but I'd heard the stories. Interrogation, torture, unethical medical experiments, murder; the place had seen it all. I wasn't all that surprised my mother wanted to meet there. Where I shuddered in terror at what had gone on in those tunnels, she probably shivered in glee.

Ahead I could see where the path led into a tunnel carved out from the rock of the mountain. A shadow drifted across the path and suddenly a man was blocking my way.

"Zachary." His face was covered in darkness so I couldn't see his expression when he said my name but I imagine it was as monotonous as his voice. "Right this way."

He turned his back to me and followed the path into the tunnel. After a split second's hesitation, I followed. The moment I was in the tunnel, the entrance closed behind me and I was bathed in total darkness. A twinge of unease crept up my spine and I felt an urgency to take a pick ax to the rock behind me and get the hell out of the tunnels.

But my curiosity got the best of me again and when the man switched on a flashlight and continued on I was just a few small steps behind him.

He took me along twisting tunnels that curved in on themselves and split off in dozens of different directions. I tried to build a mental map of the place but every time I thought I had it figured out, we took another turn that seemed to contradict the layout of the tunnels. After a quarter of an hour, we reached what I assumed was our destination. It was a room, laid out to look like an OR in a hospital. Tools like knives, clamps, and pliers were laid out on tables and shelves all around the room. There was a viewing balcony to my right and right ahead was a surgical table with my mother standing at the other end.

"Zachary," she said, a smile playing at her lips. "I must admit, I'm a little surprised at your sudden interest in my work."

I didn't know what to say so I stayed silent. My mother didn't seem to realize my muteness and continued on.

"I suppose I should have anticipated this. Your father always had his nose in places where it had no business being there as well."

I hid my surprise at her unexpected mentioning of my father. I couldn't let myself get sidetracked from the task at hand.

"So…the Morgans?" I said.

She smiled but it wasn't at all reassuring. Coldness swept through me and I got the sudden feeling that I was messing with fire with a certainty of getting burned. "Matthew Morgan was a CIA agent a few years back."

"So why were you scoping out his house just a couple weeks ago?"

"Well, Morgan isn't a problem anymore but his daughter, Cameron, could prove to be a situation. Rumor has it she's a pavement artist just like her father and I don't need another Morgan troublemaker on my hands. I have enough to deal with without having to deal with pests."

"You think Cameron Morgan spells trouble for the Circle?"

"Not yet." She rolled her eyes. "As of right now, she spends the majority of her time roaming the secret passageways of Gallagher and giggling with her roommates over her not-so-secret-anymore civilian ex-boyfriend. I'd like it to stay that way. That's where you come in."

"Excuse me?" There was no way I was going to turn into one of her minions.

"I scratched your back, Zachary. Now, it's time for you to scratch mine. You wanted information on the Morgan family, Cameron specifically, and I have it all right here." She lifted a manila folder from her lap and slid it across the table. "You have a choice to make now, son. You can stand up and walk out of this door without looking in that folder and I'll forget we ever had this conversation, or…"

"Or?"

"You read the files in there and when you get to Gallagher you feed me information about Cameron. Make sure she stays on the right path—far, far away from anything related to me or the Circle."

I looked down at the plain folder on the table before me. Inside were answers, but also a thousand more questions. "What happens to Cameron Morgan if I leave now?"

"Nothing good."

I leaned forward in my seat and saw my mother do the same. But she was in my periphery, the focus of my vision still being centered on that folder. What was the right thing to do in this situation? Should I leave and keep myself out of my mother's shady business, subjecting Cameron Morgan to it instead? Or should I sacrifice my own wants for someone I'd never met?

I remembered the person I saw walking to the barn that day in Nebraska. They walked with such purpose, the walk one they'd done a thousand times before. I wished for a moment that my life were like that. A life that didn't involve any of these sticky decisions where no matter the choice, there would always be negative consequences.

In hindsight, I would know I made the right choice. But that knowledge wouldn't come until much, much later. Instead, I regretted my choice almost as soon as the front flap of the folder hit the tabletop, revealing the papers inside.

"You're doing the right thing, son," my mother said. There was a smile in her voice and it made me squeamish. "Just get me the information I need and steer her in the right direction and Cameron will stay safe."

I nodded, closing the folder again. I stood up and tucked it beneath my arm. "I should get back to my room before anyone realizes I'm gone."

"Of course. You can find your way back out I presume?"

"Yes." My mind was already racing back along the passageways, gauging how long it would take me to get back to the fresh air outside. How long it would take me to get away from her and this eerie place. I turned to go but my mother's voice called me back once more. For a moment, I thought I saw something like regret cross her face but it was gone the next instant.

"Don't let me down, Zachary."

Without giving her a response, I left. Twenty-three minutes later, I was in my room. Benji, Clive, Grant, and Jonas were all still asleep; none of them realizing that my world had been shaken and would never be the same.

I guess, in a way, I hadn't fully realized it yet, either.

* * *

**Te gusta? Luego me dicen! Deja tu opinión!**

**(What do you think of my Spanish? Impressive, don't you think?)  
**


	8. Chapter 7

**Hey! I thought I'd give you guys a treat because it's been awhile. Please excuse any kind of errors on my part. It's finals week and I didn't have a lot of time to correct everything. I did my best!**

**Hope you like it. :)**

**DISCLAIMER (because now it's kind of really necessary): I DO NOT OWN THE GALLAGHER GIRL'S. I JUST CRY MYSELF TO SLEEP WISHING I DID.  
**

* * *

Frog Snails Chapter 7

"Hurry up, ladies!" Captain Maver bellowed. The fifteen of us had just exited the building, duffel bags slung over our shoulders and already his patience had run out. He stood just behind and to the right of the Headmaster who still had that unusually bright smile on his face that he had worn when he talked to Grant, Jonas, and me. "Don't make me break out the whip like you're all a bunch of horses that need some encouragement!"

Our footsteps increased and we straightened out into a single file line. Somehow, I ended up at the forefront of it and came to a stop nearest the Headmaster. His eyes met with mine and they twinkled mischievously like he knew every thought I'd ever had and found them extremely amusing. "Excellent, just excellent." He muttered and I repressed the disgusted expression that fought to reveal itself on my face.

If I had to hear that word one more fucking time I was going to shove my head into a damn iceberg. As soon as I could locate an iceberg that is. Or maybe I'd settle for just a plain old bucket of ice.

Headmaster Sanders turned to Captain Maver. "These boys truly are an excellent lot aren't they, Rufus? I'm so proud to be taking them to Gallagher for the semester."

Captain Maver looked more like he had just sucked an extremely sour lemon rather than proud of the strapping young men he had been charged with training. However, he still managed to stiffly nod his head before piercing his signature glare on us.

"Before we leave the premises of the institute, there are some ground rules you children must all be aware of." I distinctly heard Headmaster Sanders chuckle into his hand as Captain Maver. "First, you will not, under any circumstances, reveal the whereabouts or goings-on of Blackthorne. Second, there will be no fraternizing with the students at Gallagher. This is a learning experience, _not _playtime." The captain's eyes rested on Grant who I knew had to be trying to find some loopholes in these orders. "If you are discovered to be romantically involved with any of the Gallagher students, you will escorted back to the institute immediately to be debriefed by me. I will not make it pleasant."

"Now, now, Rufus, there's no need to intimidate the boys. They are being very well behaved." The Headmaster beamed while Captain Maver's eye twitched—I'm sure his stink eye was just begging to be unleashed on Headmaster Sanders. "Alright, we should start loading up. But first, sophomores come with me."

Grant, Jonas, and I followed him as he started off across the field. It was still early morning and the birds were just beginning to chirp their songs. With the clear sky and the soft sound of nature waking all around, you could almost forget that you were on Blackthorne premises. Aside from the fact that the large concrete building was impossible to miss, of course. It looked like a prison and no one did anything to dispel that impression.

Headmaster Sanders turned a corner and I realized we were heading to the armory. Was he going to make us do target practice before we left? When he opened the door, the rest of the boys in our grade were assembled there, all of them trying their best not to look confused.

"Good morning, fellows!" Headmaster Sanders exclaimed. There was seriously something wrong with how eerily cheerful he'd gotten in the past few weeks. He never used to be like this. Sure, I wasn't a big fan of the grumpy headmaster who gave you three weeks of night patrol for wanting seconds at dinner but I would rather have that than Mr. Sunshine Alien Freak. "Today is an important day. Three of your classmates are leaving for the semester and to wish them good luck, I've arranged a fun assignment for you all!"

My shoulders tensed with trepidation. This couldn't be good. He was going to make us spar until only one of us was left conscious. Or he'd make us complete a brutal obstacle course that would leave my bones aching for weeks after. Or he'd take us to the tombs and…I didn't want to think any further than that.

"You'll be going on a little field trip. And you'll need these." He grabbed a pile of manila folders and walked from one of us to the next. When he came by me, I sullenly took my folder, remembering the last folder I'd gotten just a couple days ago. It sat at the bottom of my bag that was still flung over my shoulder. I was afraid to let it out of my sight.

"Don't open these until you are forty-five minutes into your journey to your destination. You'll have until five o'clock to complete your mission." He smiled and a bit of the cruel man I knew as my headmaster showed through. "Good luck, boys."

And then he was out the door and Agent Hathaway, our CoveOps teacher was in front of us, shouting orders. I responded to them without realizing and was making my way out the door when I felt a hand descend on my shoulder. I turned to see Agent Hathaway staring at me, looking down his crooked nose that must have broken at least half a dozen times.

"I'll need your bag, Zachary. Yours, too, Grant and Jonas."

Agent Hathaway was the only teacher who actually spoke our first names to us. I don't know why that simple act made me trust him but it did. I slid my bag down onto the ground, trusting he wouldn't pilfer through it and find the file on Cameron Morgan.

Trust. It's interesting how it works. We expect so much of it from others and yet rarely actually give it in return. I know this because as soon as my classmates and I were all seated in the back of an old Walmart semi-truck, everyone of us had our files open, forty-four minutes and thirty-five seconds before we were supposed to.

All any of us had inside the folder was a picture. And I was the only one that recognized the picture in mine. Cameron Morgan.

We were off to hunt down the Gallagher Girls.

..^.^..

I didn't let myself feel shocked at the fact that we were being sent off to tail the Gallagher Girls. It made sense; people as an entire race have a competitive streak, the innate need to pull down each others pants and see who has the bigger balls. It was only natural that spy schools would do the same the instant they decided to acknowledge the others existence.

When we had emerged from the van, our orders had been simple: _Tail the target and find her rendezvous point. Don't get caught. _Now I sat on park bench, slyly keeping my eye on my target.

Cameron. She'd been hard enough to locate at first but I'd zoned in on her after I heard the friend by her side laugh out her name as they walked by. I'd studiously busied myself with looking nonchalant while inconspicuously nudging Grant in the rib cage. He'd glanced in their direction and given a small smirk. Looks like he'd found his target, too.

"She's hot." He said next to me. I rolled my eyes.

"You think every girl is hot, Grant."

He laughed. "I do not, Zachary. How can you say that? And even if I did, you can't blame me. I go to an all boys institute."

"I go to the same school as you."

"Are you telling me that you don't think your girl is hot?"

"I think she's a target."

"And I think you're avoiding the question." He glanced over at our targets again and caught eyes with his target. He gave a little smile before turning back to me. "Think I should go over and strike a conversation?"

"No."

"You need to learn how to live, my friend. How are you ever going to get a girlfriend with that sourpuss face? Come on, let's go talk to them."

I grabbed his forearm as he made a motion to get up. "Do you want to give us away?"

"Relax. They'll never suspect us. They probably think all these CIA agents milling around are the ones trying to follow them. They won't suspect two single, attractive guys that walk up to them with charming smiles and delicious chocolates."

He pulled out a bag of M&Ms from his pocket and dumped a couple into his hand. "Want one?"

"If you're referring to the ones you've just contaminated with the hands that you only wash once a week then hell no." I grabbed his bag of candy. "But I'll take the rest."

He shrugged and looked out across the crowd as I kept my eyes on Cameron and her friend as they made their way down the walkway. "How do you think Jonas is faring?"

"Do you want my honest opinion?"

"Always, buddy."

"I think he's probably wishing he had his computer right about now."

As if on cue, I caught sight of Jonas as he brushed shoulders with Cameron. His head was down and his shoulders hunched. Grant saw him too and called out his name. Jonas's head shot up, wide eyes searching until they found us. He weaved through the crowd, passing civilians and undercover CIA operatives until he got to our bench.

"How are you faring, Jonas?" Grant asked concernedly.

Jonas shrugged. "I caught sight of her once but then she went into the Museum of Natural History and I lost her. I'm the computer genius at school, not the field agent. What about you?"

"We got eyes on our girls." Grant's voice sounded almost fond. Dear lord, that boy and his hormones.

'Our girls' were right then passing by a CIA agent. I'd noticed her pushing a stroller in a jogging suit earlier but now she was in business attire. I could tell from the slightest straightening in Cameron's back that she had recognized her, too.

Meanwhile, Jonas and Grant were still conversing. "The Gallagher Girls must not be expecting us." Jonas said. "I ran into Benji who found his target, Mick, an hour ago in a janitor's closet and he said that Mick just about fainted when she realized a boy was tailing her."

"Their CoveOps teacher seems to have pulled out all the stops, bringing all these agents in like he has."

"Yeah, anyways, you guys seen my target around here?" Jonas flashed his target's photo at us for a second before slipping it back in his pocket.

I scanned the crowd quickly. Fifty yards away, I saw the girl walking by a drinking fountain. I pointed her out to Jonas and he gave me a grateful smile. He walked off and I returned to my new obsession: covert ogling of Cameron Morgan. It was quite entertaining.

Currently, she and her friend were slipping into the Air and Space Museum. I nudged Grant. "Time to go."

We stood up and ambled across the walk. Grant looked into the reflective surface of the glass, checking our backs to make sure we weren't being followed ourselves and then, just as the two Gallagher Girls had done a moment earlier, we entered the Air and Space Museum.

..^.^..

Those two certainly weren't going down without a fight. It had been an hour of them going up and down escalators and elevators, and executing basic counter surveillance techniques. But their attempts were futile because 1) Grant really wanted to get up close and personal with his target (apparently she was the ebony to his ivory, the milk chocolate to his white chocolate) and 2) my mother, for all her faults, did not raise an idiot.

So we kept the two of them close. We anticipated moves instead of following them around all those escalators and elevators because that would have blown our cover. Once, our prediction was wrong and we spent the next fifteen minutes nonchalantly walking around, inconspicuously molesting the crowd with our eyes while our minds exploded with panic. But then we spotted them walking down the Lincoln Memorial Stairs and let out a loud sigh in unison.

Now we were running out of time to find their rendezvous point. And they were running out of time to get to it. Five o'clock was only forty-seven minutes away.

The two of them headed down the escalator to the Metro Station. Grant and I were close (but not too close) behind. Directly behind us was an operative in a red baseball cap. I didn't understand the point of changing a disguise if you weren't going to go all out with it.

Seriously, man, add some facial hair or something. You look like a dunce with how obvious you're being.

Cameron and her friend had immersed themselves in a group of girls in similar uniforms. Some of the civilian girls glanced at us, their eyes darting to and from us. Did they think we didn't notice? Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Grant smirking slightly. He obviously found the girls' 'covert' spying amusing.

The train pulled up and Grant's target shouted, "Let's run and get it!"

The girls all laughed and ran down the last few feet of the escalator. Red baseball cap guy pushed passed Grant and me. Grant made a motion to run too but I grabbed his elbow. We reached the bottom of the escalator just as red baseball cap guy slipped through the closing doors of the train.

"What the hell, man? You let them get away." Grant whispered.

I shook my head. "They didn't run."

"No? Then where are they?"

"Hiding under the escalator."

His eyes widened. "Damn, they aren't so shabby, after all. I wouldn't have completely lost her without you." He snagged one of my hands before I could push him away. "Don't ever leave my side again, okay, darling?"

I rolled my eyes and he laughed, letting my hand fall back to my side.

We walked to the end of the platform and hid ourselves in the dark shadows there. After a minute, Cameron and her friend emerged from their hiding spot. They conversed for a second and then Cameron headed back into their hidey-hole as her friend ascended the escalator. We waited a couple more minutes until Cameron started walking toward the elevators.

"Later," Grant whispered. "See you when we celebrate our victories."

I smiled and fast-walked across the platform. Just as Cameron went to press the button, I shot my hand out and beat her to it. Her eyes moved to meet mine and I fought to keep every part of myself in order. I'd seen pictures of her—a lot of pictures over the past week—but there's something about seeing someone in person that you feel so acquainted with for the first time. There's that rush, that split second where your mind compares this image you've created in your mind of this person to the reality of what they are close-up.

Cameron in the file was cute. Cameron in real life was…beautiful.

This is the moment in the movie where life changes for John Doe. His world tilts and realigns with a new purpose. This is the scene everyone can recall from the movie because John Doe spews out some romantic words that bring people to tears.

My fabulous, romantic words?

"Hey."

* * *

**So...**

**Hey, you wanna leave review?**

**Those are _my_ ****fabulous words** **to end this chapter with.**


	9. Chapter 8

**HELLO! I wanted to get this chapter out to you guys. I was really motivated to write it and I wanted to get it out you all as soon as possible since I left you in a mean spot last time.**

**_MAJOR_****_ DISCLAIMER:_**** This does include text from Cross My Heart and Hope to Spy. I probably should have bolded/italicized those parts but I feel like it would make things feel weird. So please, don't kill me! I CLAIM NOTHING. Scene is from pg. 70-77.**

**Please, forgive any grammatical/punctuation/spelling errors.  
**

* * *

Chapter 8.

"Hi." She said, giving me the classic once-over. She pushed the elevator button again; whether to be rid of me or because she didn't know what else to do, I wasn't sure. I remembered reading about her dating a civilian last semester. Was she still hung up over that tool—guy, I mean guy. And why was I concerned?

I wasn't, I reminded myself. This was just a mission.

With a ding, the elevator doors opened and we both stepped on. I suddenly had a new fondness of elevator rides. Especially _long_ elevator rides like this one.

Now, usually I'm a pretty silent guy. I can sit for hours in a ditch and not make a whisper of a noise. But it was completely silent in this tiny cube, there wasn't even any music playing through the crappy speakers over our heads and for some reason I had to speak to her.

Plus, I wanted to complete my mission. So I checked out the crest on her jacket—not her chest, you pervs—and said, "The Guggenheim Academy—"

She cut me off quickly. "Gallagher Academy."

I shrugged and feigned ignorance. "I've never heard of it."

"Well, it's my school." She tilted her head to side and rolled her eyes up to the ceiling. It caused her hair to fall over her shoulder and she suddenly struck me as innocent, still so naïve to the evils of the big, bad world. I wondered whether people still thought I was innocent or if they knew that I wasn't blind to my mother's actions.

I had to keep her talking. I had to hold on to this one moment of simplicity. I had to connect with her in this elevator because the moment the doors opened again, I wouldn't get to be just Zach anymore. I would have to be Zachary Goode, top of his class. Zachary Goode, the begrudging son of the reclusive terrorist. Zachary Goode, the deceiver.

"You in a hurry of something?"

She glanced at me. "Actually, I'm supposed to meet my teacher at the ruby slipper exhibit. I've only got twenty minutes, and if I'm late, he'll kill me."

"How do you know?"

"Because he said, 'Meet me at the ruby slipper exhibit.'" Did she seriously just tell me her mission? Twice? Yeah, she was way too trustworthy.

I envied her.

"No." I shook my head and tried to stifle my victorious smirk. I failed. "How do you know yo only have twenty minutes? You're not wearing a watch."

"My friend just told me." Her lie was so well executed that I had to commend her. Maybe Gallagher hadn't completely failed at teaching its pupils something then.

However, my question had obviously unnerved her though I hadn't the slightest clue why. Her foot was tapping along to a nonexistent beat and she was biting her lower lip. Of course, me being me, I had to say something. What can I say? I may or may not be the slightest bit sadistic. "You fidget a lot," I said.

She froze and looked at me for a couple seconds like she was trying to figure me out. Then she said, "I'm sorry. I have low blood sugar." She ran her hand through her hair. It caught on a knot. "I need to eat something."

I remembered the M&M's I had stolen from Grant earlier and dug them out of my back pocket. Obviously, I knew she didn't actually have low blood sugar (I'd read my mother's file on her about two dozen times in the past week) but I was trying to be a nice guy. The kind of guy that I thought I might have been if I hadn't had lived the life I had. "Here. I ate most of them already."

"Oh…um…" Cameron looked momentarily confused. Her hand was outstretched to take the bag from me but not quite far enough to actually attain it. Then she pulled her hand back and her face went blank again. "That's okay. Thanks, though."

"Oh." I averted my gaze from her face and stuffed the candy back in my pocket. What the hell was wrong with my candy? I thought girls went crazy for all that generous shit. "Okay."

The elevator dinged and the doors glided open. It wasn't until the rush of cool air hit my bare fore arms that I realized how hot I was. Cameron glanced back at me and I saw her cheeks flush.

"Thanks again for the candy." She said and then she was off, probably to take some indirect path to the museum although there really wasn't any reason to anymore. I had compromised her. The only question was whether I should let her walk off now or…

I took off after her, taking longer strides to make up for the distance she'd already put between us. She must have heard my footsteps because she whipped around.

"Where are you going?" She asked in a surprisingly demanding tone.

I decided to take the ignorant road this time round. "I thought we were going to meet your teacher in the wonderful world of Oz."

Her eyes widened so much, I feared for their safety in her eye sockets. Kidding. Kind of.

"_We?"_

"Sure. I'm going with you."

"No, you're not." Her lips pursed. Soon, she might cross her arms and start lecturing me on the definition of personal boundaries. Let it be known that I am a sane, well-informed young man. I understand the notion of giving a person their space and respecting the boundaries of a near stranger. I just don't give a fuck about your opinion of me.

So I was escorting her to that exhibit, boundaries and mission directives be damned.

"Look," I said. "It's dark. You're by yourself. And this _is _D.C." I crept closer to her. We were almost within touching distance. "And you've only got…fifteen minutes to meet your teacher." I estimated the time, knowing it was actually thirteen and a half.

She seemed to debate it for a moment before she finally decided that the only way she was going to get rid of me was if she incapacitated me (which I'm sure didn't fall under the parameters of her own mission). "Fine."

So I walked alongside her, ignoring her apparent frustration. "You can really walk fast," I said. No reply. "So, do you have a name?" I asked her even though I was well aware of her name. Gotta keep up appearances, ya know?

"Sure," she said. "Lots of them."

I grinned but she was too busy keeping her eyes straight ahead of her to notice. We were halfway across the quad. The charade was nearing its end. I thought back to the file in my duffel bag, trying to think of another question to ask her.

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

"Look, thanks for the chivalry and all, but it really isn't necessary." Her lips had thinned a bit. I'd hit a nerve with that last question. Was she still pining over that tool that drove a _forklift_ through a _wall_? Where were her standards?

"It's just up here," Cameron said. We were now just a handful of yards away form the Museum of American History where the Wizard of Oz exhibit lay in wait. It was time to say goodbye. "And there's a cop over there."

"What, you think that guy can do a better job protecting you than I can?" I stuffed my hands in my pants pockets and tried to look endearing. I would have batted my eyelashes but I long ago came to conclusion that only girls can do that and not like a dust bunny just took up residence on their corneas.

"No, I think if you don't leave me alone, I can scream and that cop will arrest you."

Ha. I'd like to see him try. I bet his handcuffs were made of plastic—or that I could make it seem like they were made of plastic. But still, I supposed I should let her go now, so I can tail her for the rest of the way like my mission _told _me to do. I stepped back and smiled.

She smiled back. It was small, but I swear there was upward motion at the corners of her lips!

"Hey," she called out to me as I continued to back off. "Thanks anyway."

She really shouldn't have been thanking me. But all I could was nod, accept her gratitude. I took the small victory with full knowledge that in just a few minutes, she would more than likely hate me for making her fail. Girls are like that; they hate getting beat. I'm sure Cameron was the same way especially considering her intended profession.

She slipped into the building and I milled outside for a few more seconds. I was sure she was taking the roundabout way to the exhibit but I wasn't taking any chances. In case, you haven't noticed: I like to win, too.

I could feel the eyes of the guard on me, probably wondering why I just kept looking at the entrance of the museum. _Don't worry, Officer, I'm not casing the place for a heist._

After another minute had passed I, too, slipped into the building. The day was winding down and so was business. The place was nearly empty. When I pressed the button for the elevator, the doors opened right away which supported my theory that Cameron was taking the long route to her rendezvous point. She was thorough; I had to give her that.

Just not quite thorough enough.

After a short ride up, the elevator dinged and the doors slid open. The room was dark, only illuminated by the light that shone onto the ruby slippers on display. I slipped into the shadows along the side of the room and waited.

It wasn't long until Cameron arrived right at five. I didn't notice her at first. Her footsteps were silent and her uniform was dark enough that she too blended in with the darkness encompassing the room. Her eyes were on the ruby slippers. Why, I'm not sure. I personally have never found anything captivating about a pair of ordinary shoes, showered in loud, tomato-red sequins. Maybe it was a girl thing. But at this moment, I found it in myself to find a little appreciation for the gaudy shoes. The light was reflecting off the sequins in such a way that it lit up Cameron's entire face. It was like she illuminated from within herself by the faint, pink light of angels.

If the light of angels was pink that is…

"You're four seconds late." A strong male voice came from the other end of the room. Her teacher, I'm sure.

"But I'm alone." Cameron said confidently.

"No, Ms. Morgan. You're not." I took this as my cue to come forward.

Cameron turned to look at me, shocked. I smiled at her. I was about to say her name when I remembered that I wasn't supposed to know her name so I said the first thing that came to my mind. "Hi again, Gallagher Girl."

"Nice work, Zach," said Cammie's teacher. I'd never seen him before in my life so I wasn't sure how he knew my name. Maybe all the teachers at Gallagher had been given a list of names of the boys that were coming to spend the semester with their students. Maybe he was in cahoots with my mother. I wasn't going to worry about that now.

There's something satisfying about winning, even when it means someone you like (or don't _not_ like) loses. It's a boost, it pumps you up. Makes you ready to face the world. The glory of my win was just starting to settle in when _Gallagher Girl_ regained control of her expression and said, "Hi, Blackthorne Boy."

How the hell did she know that?

* * *

**I know! I left you in a mean place again. I'm sorry. But it just felt right to stop the chapter there.**

**I'll try to write and upload the next chapter as soon as possible.**

**For the meantime, I'll leave you a quote from the book we just read in class. Can you guess what the book was?**

_"YOU HAVE TO BE A _PRESENCE._ THERE'S NOTHING AS SCARY AS THE FUTURE._"**  
**


	10. Chapter 9

**I know it's been a while and I don't really have any excuses aside from writer's block and lack of confidence. But here's a new chapter and I hope you guys enjoy!**

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing but daydreams.**

* * *

Chapter 9.

There are moments in all of our lives when we get the wind knocked out of us. Moments when our hearts skip a beat and we worry we'll never take another breath. For some, that moment happens when they fall in love or they fall down a flight of stairs or get the crap kicked out of them in front of the girl they like.

I had one of those moments when Cameron Morgan called me out as a spy-boy.

How the hell did she know that?

Isn't that classified?

Does she know _exactly_ who I am?

"Very good, Ms. Morgan." Her teacher said and I forced myself to move my panic attack to the back-burner. Stay classy, Zachary. "But not good enough."

Part of Gallagher Girl seemed to deflate when he said that. I could understand her disappointment. She had been so close to success, she could feel it in her grasp and then I went and ruined it for her. I was like a lightning bolt coming down from a clear, blue sky.

"Your mission was...what?" She asked. "To keep us from achieving our mission?"

I morphed my face into my perfected douche pose. "Something like that." I laughed and it thankfully sounded natural. "I thought I could just make you late for your meeting. I didn't think you'd actually tell me where it was and walk me halfway there."

I watched her face as that statement sunk in. She looked disgusted, mostly internally but some of it was sure to be targeted at me: the professional liar. She would never trust me after this.

But I suppose that was never my intention.

Tourists entered the exhibit and whipped out their cameras to immortalize the tacky shoes and corny bonding moment. I took that as my chance to slip out, leaving no trace of my presence except for the memory of a naive girl.

Like a phantom, I disappeared into the shadows.

..^.^..

The ride back to Blackthorne was considerably more chatty than the one to D.C. Grant was having a debate with half of our class over who had the hottest target, Benji and Clive were comparing whose tailing was more flashy, and Jonas was sulking across from me because of all us in the van, he was the only one that failed to successfully tail his target.

"Enough! Enough!" Grant yelled and the other voices quieted down. He glanced around and a devilish smirk spread across his face. "You can argue all you want, but when you've met an Aphrodite, you become more selective with who you call beautiful."

"Ass," Nik Harper said. "You're full of shit. You won't even show us your target's picture. She's probably a hag."

Grant pulled him into a headlock. "I just don't want you douches going after her. You'll break her heart."

"She's training to be a spy. I don't think a broken heart is what'll kill her." I said.

"No, her bad spying will." Nik gasped.

Grant gasped. "_You-_"

"Drop it, Grant," I said. "His half-assed insults aren't worth it."

Grant looked at me for a moment and then loosened his hold on Nik's neck. Nik pulled away quickly and massaged his neck. He glared at Grant who stared back just as fiercely.

"Good thing you guys are leaving soon or your life would be a whole lot more similar to hell." Nik threatened.

Grant and I laughed. Even Jonas cracked a smile. Nik was all talk who couldn't last a minute on the mats against Grant or I and none of us could ever dream of matching Jonas's encryptions.

"Nik, the only reason you caught your target today was because she sprained her ankle." Jonas said. "Before you go yelling 'King of the Mountain' I would look around you and realize that you aren't even in line to inherit the throne. When Grant and Zach leave here, you aren't going to assume control of our grade."

"Ah, then who is?" Nik demanded hotly.

Jonas took a good look at everyone. "The third best fighter in our grade is Thomas but Freddie is one of the best techs and he handles the guns best since his dad owns that gun company. Benji is the best pavement artist and Clive tests well. But you, Nik, you consistently fall into the middle of the pack which is hardly conducive to being a competent leader."

Nik was silent and the others were adjusting themselves in their seats whether from discomfort or pride at their abilities.

I hid a smile. Who knew Jonas had the guts? I guess he wasn't just a tech-spy after all; he had a little hardball in him too.

The van rolled to a stop. We were at the gates of the institute. Suddenly, the back doors opened up. Captain Maver was there, feet firmly planted in the gravel with an expression as stern as ever.

"You're all a bunch of pansies, aren't you?" He shouted. "Newman, state the parameters of your mission!"

"'Tail the target and find her rendezvous point. Don't get caught,' sir!"

"And how many of you were able to reach the reach the rendezvous point, Rodgers?"

The van was silent.

"Rodgers!"

"O-one, sir."

"One. Out of sixteen of you, only _one_ was able to complete the mission. Is this what you call a success? You fools are pitiful. Hopeless." He shook his head. It was probably the closest I would ever see him to tears. "Night patrol for four weeks. Obviously, we have some incompetence to weed out of you all."

He turned and left for the building. We all trickled out of the van and I couldn't be more glad that I was leaving for the semester. A sedentary life is difficult for a roamer to accustom to and listening to the bickering of my classmates when I had far more serious problems at hand was proving to be just as troublesome.

Grant, Jonas, and I broke off from the pack halfway back to the institute. There was no fanfare involved in our departure, no man hugs or tough love handshakes. One moment, we were with the dozen people we had gotten used to talking, fighting, and laughing with and the next, they were lost in the darkness of the grounds. But as the saying goes, one chapter ends just as another begins.

Bye bye, Blackthorne; good day, Gallagher.

..^.^..

Well, not quite. After leaving Blackthorne moments after returning to it-this time for a considerably longer absence-we drove through the night until we stopped outside of Richmond, Virginia at dawn. We checked into a cheap motel there. Grant, Jonas, and I were placed in the room with the loud, struggling ice machine on the other side of the wall. It gurgled and croaked and shuddered so violently that the painting on our wall trembled.

"This is classy living if I ever saw it." Grant smiled and plopped down onto the nearest bed.

"Just until we move into Gallagher." Jonas replied. "What do you think it's like there?"

Grant thought for a moment. "I can't imagine they're as strict as Blackthorne but I think in a lot of ways they'll be just as vigorous."

"A spy school is a spy school. There are certain expectations in the curriculum and capabilities of the students." I said.

There was a knock on the door and then Headmaster Sanders entered without waiting for a reply. He was still sporting a smile and his teeth looked eerily white in the growing light of the new day. He was carrying a handful of manila folders in his hands. He came into the room and handed each of us one.

"Boys, I've come with some material for you to review. I'm sure you understand why we must establish some ground rules before we arrive at Gallagher. Much of our institution's information is classified and it would be unfortunate if you breeched protocol."

I opened my folder. There was a thick packet inside. The heading on the first page said in bold letters: MINIMIZE DISCLOSURE. I looked up and saw that Grant was already flipping through the rest of the pages. He stopped halfway through.

"REMAIN SOLITARY? I thought the whole point of this was to get to know the girls?"

Sanders turned his attention to Grant. "Not so much get to know them as learn their ways. Familiarize yourself with their habits so that when you work together years from now on the field, you can correct a frequent mistake of theirs smoothly. The most common explanation for the incompletion of a mission is unfamiliarity with your partner. We want to root that out. Keep in mind that you aren't here to make friends but to network."

Grant frowned and I could feel his disappointment. So much for getting close and personal with Miss Ebony.

"You'll also find in the closet that you have new uniforms. Gallagher's cover is an elite private school and now you'll be acting as visiting students from a brother institute. Understood?"

He left without waiting for an answer. Jonas went to the closet and opened its sliding door. Inside were three well-pressed, navy suits with the Blackthorne insignia sewn onto the front pocket of the jacket. The jacket and pants were in a plastic bag to ward off dust which made them seem oddly fragile and I had the image of me being a brute in my standard yellow jumpsuit. In so many ways, my friends and I were about to experience a whole new world but we weren't supposed to actually embrace it. Like the new uniforms, the changes to our person were supposed to be only physical and on the surface. Our inner workings were to stay the same. Sanders had said that this wasn't about making friends and he was right. It was about studying their habits like you would carefully mark the progress of a science experiment.

But who was the experimenter? And who were the guinea pigs?

* * *

**What do you think?**

**And guess where they'll be next chapter? Oh, yeah: GALLAGHER!**


	11. Chapter 10

**Two chapters in one week! This is unheard of for me.**

**Hope you guys like it. :) And I hope I don't have too many errors in here. Sometimes my mind gets ahead of my fingers and I skip words or murder my spelling trying to keep up.**

**I just go the chance to read GG5 this week so I'll definitely try to incorporate those new details into my storyline when they become relevant.**

**DISCLAIMER: I'm a dreamer. Also, this chapter does include direct text from CMH pages 87-93.**

* * *

Chapter 10.

It is an hour and a half drive from Richmond to Roseville, Virginia. It was not a glamorous towns and the small downtown area was made up entirely of family owned businesses. With its rustic allure and complete lack of anything cosmopolitan, it quickly became obvious why a spy school would set up base in the area: Roseville was the place where intrigue came to die.

We had abandoned the windowless van in Richmond and upgraded to five sleek limousines. I was liking Gallagher's elitist cover more and more.

The limo cut through the trees on a smooth winding road. RIght now, Benji and Clive were in Offensive Maneuvers class which was a fancy way of saying they were either at the gun range or the boxing ring. And here I was, being admitted by a guard in a well-pressed uniform onto the groomed grounds of Gallagher Academy for Exceptional Young Women.

Grant was practically bouncing in his seat; he couldn't wait to get a rematch with his lady friend. Jonas looked queasy and I could tell he was reliving the moment his target had shoved him into a janitor's closet yesterday because even though he felt more comfortable in a closet than open spaces, he hated confrontation.

The limo came to a stop and I looked out the tinted window. The front doors of the academy were a craftsman's masterpiece, stretching more than twice as tall as any man and were decorated with what I assumed was the Gallagher Academy crest.

Grant whistled. "Now _they_ are living the classy life."

"Imagine the history it has!" Jonas exclaimed. "At a glance I would guess it was built mid-1800s. I wonder if it was a stop on the Underground Railroad?"

"Gillian Gallagher was a supporter of Lincoln. It was probably a beacon for the Underground Railroad." I said. I opened the door and got out.

The academy really was enormous. It extended as long as Blackthorne but it also stretched several stories higher. And I could only assume that it also had a puzzle of tunnels underneath the dirt like Blackthorne.

A hand slapped down on my shoulder and I turned to look Grant in the face. "We're here, bro," he said. "This semester is gonna kill!"

Keeping his grip on me, he slung an arm around Jonas and pulled as a trio up the curved steps of the school. The doors opened as we approached and Sanders stood there in all his sinister glory.

"Boys! Hurry in. It's time to meet your new classmates!"

He motioned across open space of the foyer towards a set of double doors. I could hear chatter and clinking of dishes from where I stood with my two closest friends and realized that while the day had been going on for hours at Blackthorne, it was just beginning at Gallagher.

And then my fourteen classmates were in front of the doors that held the dozens of unsuspecting girls on the other side. With one last look at all of, Sanders pushed open the doors and revealed them.

It was like something out of a movie. One second there was a cascade of noise and the next, silence. Their eyes were all on us like we were some kind of foreign species or alien species. Which I guess, in a way, we kind of were. But their shock wasn't what interested me. It was the shock of one particular individual that I wanted to see. I don't know when I had started to refer to her as my Gallagher Girl in my head but as I scanned the tables for her I felt a deep distinction between her and the rest of her schoolmates. They blatantly showed their shock while she had masked hers yesterday and spun it back around on me. While then I had been freaked-the shit-out, in hindsight it was refreshing.

I caught sight of her as we reached the head table where the faculty sat. The headmistress was just finishing her speech about welcoming us in and being so pleased to have guests at Gallagher once more and I saw Gallagher Girl looking at her with a look somewhere between annoyance and embarrassment.

I smirked. It couldn't be helped.

By now, the girls had started conversing again but the tone was completely changed. There was babbling and joyful exclamations but hurried whispers and exaggerated hand gestures.

"Ladies, this is a wonderful opportunity," the headmistress said. "And I hope you will use this time to forge bonds of friendship that you can carry throughout your lives."

"Hell yeah, bitch." Grant whispered to Jonas and me. I didn't have to look at him to know that he'd spotted his target from yesterday.

Just then Gallagher Girl locked eyes with me. A look of recognition crossed her face and I leaned against the head table, crossing my arms.

Her face hardened and my smile grew. I forgot about my mom and what I was supposed to be doing for her. Instead, I found myself agreeing with Grant's earlier notion that this semester was going to kill.

..^.^..

We were ushered out of the dining hall almost as soon as we had arrived and taken on a grand tour of the place we were eating, sleeping, and studying at for the next five months. Everything was brighter, more welcoming, and decidedly more sophisticated than anything at Blackthorne. My mind flashed to the tunnels but it seemed almost a shame to think of them within these respected and _respectful _halls.

Bit by bit, the fifteen of us broke off into our own factions as we trouped off to our respective classes. Eventually it was just Grant, Jonas, and I being escorted by _Dr. Steve-_as he now wished to be addressed-to our Countries of the World class.

I had resigned myself to the fact that the one faculty member my friends and I were familiar with had gone psychotic and reached new levels of creepiness. I guess that could only be expected from an operative with experience in psychiatry.

The door of the classroom was closed when we arrived there and Dr. Sanders, embracing his new oddball cover, sidestepped actually knocking on the door.

"Knock, knock." He said and pushed the door wide open. At the front of the classroom, the teacher stopped lecturing and every girl in the classroom turned to take in the newcomers. "Good morning, ladies."

Gallagher Girl was there and she looked as though she was in complete disagreement with Dr. Steve.

"Can I help you, Dr. Sanders?" The teacher, Mr. Smith asked. His annoyance was apparent and I couldn't blame him. I was deeply disturbed by the man who was supposed to be my advisor.

"I say, your voice sounds so familiar. Have we met before?"

"No," the teacher replied icily. "I'm quite sure we haven't."

"Never did any work over at the Andover Institute, did you?" The Andover Institute, as my Weapon Mastery instructor had informed me in the ninth grade, was another operative training base, similar in curriculum to Blackthorne. It was his alma mater and I found myself having trouble placing the slight teacher in front of me in the same place as the man with biceps on his biceps.

"No." He turned back to his board, giving the universal sign that he was bored with this conversation.

"Oh well," Dr. Sanders said, shrugging his shoulders. "Should we have the boys introduce themselves?"

Mr. Smith sighed. "I have learned, Dr. Sanders-"

"Steve," Dr. Sanders interjected.

"-that ours in an occupation where names are-at best-temporary," he continued on without listening to Sanders. "But, if they must..."

Dr. Sanders turned his gaze on the three of us and motioned Jonas forward. Jonas fidgeted in the new uniform, tugging at his tie. "Um...I'm Jonas," he said, not making eye contact with anyone in the room. "I'm sixteen. I'm a sophomore-"

He was cut off by Mr. Smith. "Thus, your enrollment in this class. Welcome, Jonas. Please have a seat."

It was an order, not a request and in a way it was comforting to know that some things remain constant no matter which spy school you attend.

"Excellent job, Jonas. Excellent job. Now, Jonas here is on the research track of study. I don't suppose any of you young ladies could show Jonas around." Dr. Sanders said and I remembered that here Gallagher made a distinction between those students that wished to do field work and those that wanted to remain attached to their computers, like Jonas. It was yet another difference between our schools as Blackthorne didn't concern itself with your preferences.

Dr. Sanders paired Jonas up with a blonde beanpole named Liz who it was apparent was far too shy to volunteer herself as a guide. Her friend, who sat behind her, was wearing a smug look on her face.

"Now, Grant, if you would-"

"I'm Grant." My own friend said, and acting like the stud-muffin he thought he was, he slipped smoothly into the seat next Liz's friend who just so happened to be his target from the day before. She smiled coyly at him and I couldn't help thinking that Grant might have met his match.

I didn't wait for Dr. Sanders to introduce me. I headed to the back of the room on my own where Gallagher Girl was. "I'm Zach," I said. "And I think I've found my guide."

I didn't stare her down or angle my body in such a way that my button down stretched tight against my abs (which Grant once commented were of the perfect composition to make a girl swoon). I did, however, take the open seat next to her.

So maybe I was having a little too much fun with this when I should be more worried about my mother's interest in her. In my defense, however, I was a teenage boy with eyes and she was a teenage girl with nice legs.

She didn't introduce herself or even look at me. Instead, she steadfastly began the pop quiz Mr. Smith had handed out. I followed suit.

And thus, began the adventure.

* * *

**I gotta say: I LOVE having a laptop now. It's so much easier to just sit down and write because I can do it just about anywhere now instead of having to sit at my old, chunking _e_machine.**

**Am I staying in character enough? Let me know! I am wide open to constructive criticism. **


	12. Chapter 11

**So I know this update is a little shorter than what I usually post. I just want to get as much out while I've escaped writer's block as I can. Plus, it just seemed like a good place to stop.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Gallagher Girls. Ally Carter does. Some direct text taken from CMH pg. 94-98.**

**ENJOY!**

* * *

Chapter 11.

"So, we meet again."

Yes, I actually said that. It was cliche and inaccurate on so many levels but it was the quickest way I could think of to start a conversation with her.

COW class had finished and we were now standing in the middle of the tide of girls hurrying to get to their next period. Somehow though, she and I managed to hold our own against the current, like rocks on the bottom of a river that remain constant for decades and centuries as life progresses around them.

Suddenly, I felt awkward, so I hurried to shift my attention away from her face before she noticed my staring. I looked around the hall. "So _this _is the famous Gallagher Academy."

It was a truly beautiful building. I couldn't imagine my mother walking its halls.

"Yes." Cammie replied. "This is the second-floor corridor. Most of our classes are down this hall."

I looked back at her and had the urge to get under her skin again. "And _you're_..." I paused for dramatic effect. "...the famous Cammie Morgan."

It was the first time I'd said her name aloud and it felt exciting. Like I was crossing some sort of line by revealing that I knew more about her than she knew about me. And being the spy-in-training that I am, I love crossing lines.

She seemed irked at my knowing her name and didn't meet my eyes as she said, "Come on. Culture and Assimilation is on the fourth floor."

"Whoa," I said. "Did you just say you're taking me to _culture _class?"

"Yes."

This school already seemed so weird for a spy school. There was no gun range in sight and the students seemed to have no qualms interacting with the teachers, and now she was taking me to a class where I would presumably learn how to write calligraphy and arrange bouquets of flowers.

"Boy when they say you've got the toughest curriculum in the world...they mean it."

If the entire school day was a string of classes like a Culture and Assimilation course, she should thank her stars that she wasn't spending a semester at Blackthorne. She wouldn't last a week.

"Culture and Assimilation has been part of the Gallagher curriculum for more than a hundred years, Zach." I liked how she said my name. She put more emphasis on the _Z _than most. It was endearing. "A Gallagher girl can blend into any culture - any environment. Assimilation isn't a matter of social graces."

We had reached the doors of the classroom. "It's a matter of life and death," she finished gravely.

I supposed I could let her think she had won this small battle. Maybe it would alleviate some of the residual tension she seemed to be carrying around with her. And then I heard the sounds of music and a woman inside the classroom calling, "Today, ladies and gentlemen, we will be studying the art of...the dance!"

I barely contained my laugh. I certainly couldn't resist leaning down to Cammie and whispering in her ear, "Yeah...Life. And. Death."

When I pulled back, her cheeks were pinker (whether from embarrassment or anger I couldn't tell). Without saying a word, she entered the classroom and I followed.

The tall windows on the other side of the room had the curtains pulled back to allow the sunlight in. There was a large, open space in the middle of the room, outlined by circular tables. In the middle of the open space was the woman I presumed to be our teacher, Madame Dabney.

When she spoke it was in a melodic soprano, like she could break into song at any moment. "I have been saving this very special class for the arrival of our very special guests."

"Did you hear that?" I whispered to Cammie who was still nearby. "I"m special."

She started to give what I'm sure would have been a very intelligent retort when Madame Dabney cut her off.

"Oh, Cameron dear, would you and your friend like to demonstrate for the rest of the class?"

Without waiting for a response, she pulled Cammie and me to the middle of the room. "You must be Zachary Goode. Welcome to the Gallagher Academy." She said. She gave no sign that she was familiar with my last name and I suppressed a sigh of relief. "Now, I must ask that you place your right hand firmly in the center of Cameron's lower back."

I could tell she was uncomfortable. She wasn't meeting my eyes and it reminded me that even though she was training to be a spy, in so many ways she was just like any other girl. And I was a stranger-boy with my hand on her back.

"Okay, now. Everyone find a partner," Madame Dabney directed. "Yes, girls, some of you will have to take turns being the boy."

Everyone started pairing up as Cammie and I held our position for further instructions. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Jonas and his guide stepping on each others feet. Looks like he'd found the female version of himself.

"Ladies," Madame said, "you will place your right hand firmly in your partner's palm." Cammie placed her hand in mine like I was a thorny bush.

"What's the matter, Gallagher Girl?" I asked, trying to get her to loosen up a little. "You're not actually mad about yesterday, are you?"

In the back of my mind, I noticed the music growing louder and Madame Dabney was criticizing a girl named Rebecca for not letting Grant lead; the actual dancing was starting. But right then, I was focused on my Gallagher girl's face. Something had definitely shaken her about yesterday. Did she feel inferior?

"It was a cover Gallagher Girl. An op." I said, not knowing exactly what to say to make her feel better. So I took the easy route and decided to shrug her problems off. "Maybe you're familiar with the concept?"

Madame Dabney came up to us and told us to hold each other closer and I felt that yet again, I was crossing a line. But this time, the feeling didn't sit quite as well with me. By brushing off and mocking her problems, I was quickly creating a wall between us. And while that might have been a smart thing to do considering who my mother was, I realized in that moment that I didn't want a wall between Cammie and me.

Everything was getting confusing rapidly, and I needed to take a step back. I had to reevaluate this situation. I glanced around the room and saw Grant and Jonas with their respective dance partners. After all of our experiences at Blackthorne together, they were the two people that I considered family the way I had always imagined family should be. Could I trust them with this secret? Could they help me figure this out?

There was only one thing I knew for sure: people never rise to the occasion unless given the chance.

* * *

**Am I progressing okay? I don't want him to be in love with her yet, just protective, you know? I think it'll be a lot more romantic if he falls in love with her over time from watching over her (but not in a stalkerish way) instead of looking at her once and being all -KABLAM!- in love.**


	13. Chapter 12

**Another chapter! OH MI GATOS!**

**As always, I do not own Gallagher Girls or Zachary Goode but I DEFINITELY would not object to getting my hands on him (if you know what I mean. Haha, I crack myself up). Takes place between CMH pg. 99-102 although no direct text is taken.**

* * *

Chapter 12.

I was going to tell them. I was going to tell them. _I was going to tell them._

But how do you tell someone something you wished you didn't know?

Grant, Jonas, and I were in our new room after dinner. Creatures of habit after years of Blackthorne, both of them were on the floor, papers and books spread about them as they trudged through our new assignments. I sat at the desk next to them, my own work covering the polished wood surface of it.

I cleared my throat. "Grant, Jonas..."

They both lifted their heads to look at me.

"Yeah?" Grant said when I didn't continue.

"I, uh, wanted to know if either of you had the notes from Countries of the World class."

Jonas nodded and handed me a red folder that already had the class's name neatly labeled on it. Jonas liked to organize his materials and classes based on a ROYGBIV scale.

"Thanks," I said and turned back to my work. I couldn't do it. I couldn't bring myself to say those words.

By eight, the three of us had finished our work and from the sounds coming outside of closed door, our other Blackthorne-mates had as well. Jonas had already buried himself in his computer work; he was working on a new program that would make it easier to hack into satellite feeds and redirect their courses or focus points.

Grant had changed out of his uniform and was lounging on his bed in a wife beater and sweatpants. He watched me as I grabbed my things to change as well.

"I know I've got a trim figure, Grant, but please try not to stare."

I smirked and he smiled back but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

He still had the same look on his face when I got out of the bathroom. It was the same look he had on his face every time he worked on one of the mega-jigsaw puzzles that he snuck into our dorm room at school.

"Penny for your thoughts?" I said, sitting down on my own bed.

He shook his head jokingly. "Zachary, you know I'm not that cheap."

"Seriously, what is it?"

I saw him share a look with Jonas who I turned to next. He looked at me sheepishly and pushed his glasses up his nose, a classic sign that he was nervous. Jonas shifted the laptop off of his crossed legs and stood up, crossing over to the window so his back was to me.

"Is someone going to tell me what's going on?" I asked. Their cautious behavior was nagging me. As hypocritical as it sounded, I itched me to think my friends were keeping something from me.

"We know something's up with you, okay?" Jonas said, still looking at lawn and woods outside the window. "We're your friends and we're not idiots so we know something's going on with you. But we don't want to push you."

Grant huffed and Jonas amended himself, "Well, I won't push you."

"We've known each other for years and shared so many experiences and you're still gonna keep us out of the loop?" Grant said. He was pissed and I couldn't believe I hadn't realized this before.

I sat down on my bed, putting my hands in my face. "I can't."

"Can't what? Trust us? We aren't snitches."

"I know that."

I didn't have to see Grant's face to know he was rolling his eyes. "Obviously not or you would've told us whatever the hell is going on with you."

"It's not that I don't want to tell you what's going on. I don't want to put you guys in a dangerous position. I'm trying to protect you." I struggled to keep my voice under control but Grant wasn't as concerned.

"Bullshit! We aren't pansies, Zach. We don't need you to be some knight in shining armor. We need our friend, the one who knows he can tell us anything and we'll take it to the fucking grave!"

It was silent for a moment and when I looked from my hands Grant was still staring at me, waiting. Blackthorne had taught us that keeping secrets was essential and one of the most difficult lessons to learn but right then I realized that sometimes gathering the courage to speak the truth is far more difficult than lying.

"There's so much you don't know," I whispered.

"Then go slow." Jonas said, turning around now. "We aren't going anywhere."

"You might want to."

He gave me a little smile at me. "Grant and I know you're a good person, Zach. We wouldn't have chosen you as an ally at Blackthorne otherwise."

I nodded slowly, gathering my thoughts. "Well then, tonight, I'll tell you about my life before Blackthorne..."

And in our new dorm room at the Gallagher Academy, I told my oldest friends about the frequent moves and the odd behavior of my mother. I didn't tell them who she worked for - I wasn't ready for that - and they didn't push me. I did tell them about Cammie Morgan and how I felt I needed to help her - protect her. I had to keep her away from my mother.

I had to keep them all away from my mother.

..^.^..

The three of us stayed up late discussing that night. I knew Grant and Jonas wanted to know more but I wasn't willing to go into details about my mother's work. Instead they asked why my mother was interested in Cammie Morgan

"I don't know."

They asked what I was going to do to help her.

"I don't know."

The asked who else we could trust.

"I don't know."

A little before midnight near the end of the conversation, Grant had exclaimed, "Jesus, do you know anything, Zach?"

Jokingly, with a shadow of my signature smirk on my face, I had said, "I don't know."

We all laughed at that and for a moment I felt relief. For once, I felt like I had done something and that maybe now things would start to be better and starting looking up. When we finally ended the conversation and I was lying in my bed, the buzz in my head wasn't as hectic and for the first time in weeks, I fell asleep quickly.

I was feeling refreshed the next morning when I entered the dining hall. As I headed to sit down, I was stopped by a hand on my arm. I turned my head and saw that the hand belonged to the man who had been the ruby slipper exhibit. The CoveOps teacher, Mr. Solomon.

"Zachary Goode."

"Yes, sir."

He looked at me seriously. "Tell me, how is your mother these days?"

I was silent for a moment. So someone did know my mother. I suppose it was foolish to hope that Gallagher truly was safe. My mother had gone here after all.

"She's still alive, sir."

"What a shame. I hoped..." He shook his head. "In any case, you don't work for her, do you?"

So he went straight for the point. Was he some sort of test assigned by my mother to ascertain my loyalties? The look in his eyes made me think that he wasn't.

"I don't work for anyone but myself."

"But you would be willing to help others, wouldn't you?" He said. "I wasn't born yesterday, Mr. Goode. The way you look at her, it's obvious."

"Excuse me?"

"Ms. Morgan."

Reflexively, I looked over to where she was sitting with her friends. Her back was to me and for a second I wished that she would turn around so that I could see her face and make sure that she was okay. But I pushed that thought out of my mind because it was misguided and had no business being there.

"I think you've got the wrong idea, Mr. Solomon."

"I don't think I do. I've seen a lot more than you and met a hell of a lot better liars than you. Don't think for a second that I'll let you hurt her." His eyes boring into mine spoke of all kinds of danger. Something flickered in them and then the menacing look was gone.

He sighed. "I pity you your mother."

I wished that he would stop bringing her up. "Don't mention it."

"If you need someone to talk to," he whispered, "my door is always open."

I looked at him for a long moment and realized that behind his tough exterior was another person just like me. Someone caught up in a lie they didn't want to live.

And as the professors at Blackthorne had always preached: the best way to learn was to experience.

I had started the semester thinking that I was alone in this debacle and now I was finding that I could have allies. Grant and Jonas had said that they would always have my back and now Mr. Solomon was telling me, in his own way, that he knew what it felt like to be in my shoes and would do his best to help me.

And, damn, did support feel good.

* * *

**HOPEFULLY, I don't have too many errors in there. Please let me know if there are any and maybe I'll fix it.**

**REVIEWS AND FEEDBACK ARE GREATLY APPRECIATED! I'm doing this as much for you guys as I am for myself. :)**


	14. Chapter 13

**ANOTHER UPDATE! Yay!**

**I'm really trying to keep up with this story. I feel so bad that I've kept you guys so deprived for two years. And lately I've been really motivated to write (because it's easier than building up the courage to apply for scholarships and colleges and, you know, figure out my life). Forgive any spelling, grammatical, or any other miscellaneous mistakes!**

**Also, one of my favorite lines from the Wicked soundtrack: "Where I'm from, we believe all sorts of things that aren't true. We call it history."**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own the GG series because try as I might, I'm not that awesome. Direct text taken from CMH pg. 102-109.**

* * *

Chapter 13.

From the little bit I had seen of him, Mr. Solomon was proving to be an interesting character. His face held no sign of recollection of the short conversation he had had with me earlier that morning and as he escorted us onto a Gallagher Academy shuttle bus to an undisclosed location, it was easy to pretend that he really was nothing more than just another specially qualified teacher.

From a statistical point of view, there were eight girls, two boys (including myself), and two teachers present in the small space of the van and while that might have proven to be a rambunctious occasion for other people, it was awkward for those present in that specific scenario. The girls were still smarting from failing their last mission as was Grant; I was trying to return the calm that I used to possess before my mother started messing around in my sandbox; and Dr. Steve, bless his soul, was still batshit crazy. Mr. Solomon alone seemed to be the only one among us unfazed and uninterested in the proceedings of the world.

"I say, Mr. Solomon," Dr. Steve said, his voice annoyingly chipper and profoundly different than his usual morning tone, "you've done an excellent job with these young ladies. Just excellent."

I was beginning to wonder if Dr. Steve was using the word _excellent_ as a euphemism for a more dissatisfying one, like underwhelming or disappointing. It would explain so much as Dr. Steve was a naturally pessimistic person and had a steadfast rule of never complimenting people as he thought it made them too sure of themselves. He believed in a code of harassment and criticism because he believed that built character and a stronger will to live and succeed. "You can make a man physically capable," he once said, "but without _psychological _training and endurance, he will never last in the field."

Compared to Dr. Steve's previous tough love approach, his compliments to Mr. Solomon almost seemed like insults. "You ladies need to pay attention to this man," he said, "He's a living legend."

The van reached the gates of Gallagher as Mr. Solomon replied, "Just as long as they remember the most important part of that is the _living_."

He then changed the subject to the actual point of this drive: CoveOps class. "Today's about the basics, ladies and gentlemen," he said, "I want to watch you move; see you work together. Pay attention to your surroundings, and remember - half of your success in this business comes from looking like you belong, so today your cover is that you're a bunch of private-school students enjoying a trip to town."

Bex, Grant's target from D.C., asked the question we all wanted the answer to. "What are we really?"

"A bunch of spies" -Mr. Solomon pulled out a shiny new quarter from his pocket and gave it a flip- "playing tag."

So we were passing our brush passes. This should be fun. I shared a quick look with Grant and knew that he, too, was reminiscing about the practical exam we had on brush passes in the fall and how it took Captain Mavers half an hour and a dozen threats to realize that we'd slipped our object into the disc drive and Jonas's computer.

"Brush pass, Miss Baxter," our new teacher was saying, "define it."

"The act of covertly passing an object between agents."

"Correct." He passed a look around at all of us in the van. "The little things can get away from you, ladies and gentlemen. The little things matter."

What he said rang true to me. I was so focused on the big picture of why my mother would be at all interested in Cammie Morgan (who, I had discovered from Jonas, was not even top of her class) that I had forgotten not to sweat the little things. The 'little things' that I had overlooked had added up to the point that my friendships were being affected by my inability to multitask. And I, Zachary Goode, was once well known around Blackthorne for that specific ability.

Of course, it was in the middle of this mini-revelation of mine that Dr. Steve decided to put in his two cents. "So right you are. As I was telling Headmistress Morgan just this -"

He was cut off by Mr. Solomon. "It's you and the street today," he said deeply, "Today's test might be low tech, but this is trade craft at its most essential."

He grabbed out a box filled with comms units and tiny concealed cameras (camouflaged as various accessories) from underneath his seat.

"Watch. Listen," Mr. Solomon said. "Remember to communicate. Observe."

I grabbed a comms and an American flag pin-slash-camera (because I'm a patriot!) out of the box as Grant demonstrated that chivalry wasn't quite dead yet.

"Pair off," Solomon said and I looked over at him just in time to see his head turning away from me. "Blend in, and remember, we'll be watching."

It was as though Mr. Solomon knew what I wanted without me having to say it and I took it as another sign that he was on my side because in another move reminiscent of Big Brother, he said, "Oh no, Ms. Morgan. I believe you already have a partner."

Gallagher Girl froze on her way to the doors and her presumed partner, Bex. I smirked as her eyes landed on me and she realized that the universe wasn't in her personal favor right now but mine.

..^.^..

When I was little, my mother taught me that there are three basic rules to being a winner:

1. Be patient with your actions

2. Be determined with your decisions

3. Be smart with your words

I don't know how long it took her to determine those three choices and why she excluded some of the most basic skills that we are told are necessary to survive but I did think that maybe she was onto something because as I walked beside Gallagher Girl on the way to the square, I could tell that while she might able to hold her own against me in hand-to-hand combat, she could never win a verbal battle against me.

"Come on, Gallagher Girl," I said, "this should be fun."

Here in this situation, I was in my element. It was just like any other tactical exercise at Blackthorne and those were never a problem for me; it was the analyzing and deciphering that I was shit at (which was why I was always so thankful to have Jonas as a friend).

Mr. Solomon was ordering commands through the comms unit as I took a seat on the gazebo steps while she remained standing in front of me like some kind of guard. According to the reports, this was where the "romance" between her and the civilian, Josh Abrams, had taken place. I wondered if she was remembering the times she had spent with him as she looked casually around the square - and also surveilling the area like any good spy.

"So," I said, leaning back on the step behind me, "come here often?"

She shrugged and said, "I used to, but then the deputy director of the CIA made me promise to stop."

Her nonchalance of it all amused, and I laughed. It was one of the first times that I had shown her a true emotion of mine and part of me was glad that it had been amusement rather than something like anger or depression or desperation.

Through the comms, Mr. Solomon's voice spoke with a slight crackle, "Okay, Ms. Walters, you're it. Be aware of your casual observers, and let's make those passes quick and clean."

Tina Walters made the brush pass on the south side of the square, smoothly slipping the quarter into Eva Alvarez's hand as they headed opposite directions. Mr. Solomon gave them kudos and then moved onto the next pass.

It was quick. It was clean. It was home to be here like this. Brush passes were something I could in my sleep and certainly not something that left me feeling that I had two left feet or a big sign over my head screaming in big bold letters: "DOOFUS!".

I closed my eyes and let myself enjoy this one moment where my thoughts were completely calm and I felt as though I had things under control. It was a moment where I was allowed to forget who I was and embrace the cover that I was just a private school boy bathing in early spring sunshine. But moments like those don't last and before I knew it, Gallagher Girl was pulling me out of it back into reality.

"So what about you?" She asked. "Exactly where does the Blackthorne Institute call home?"

"Oh." _Hell. _"That's classified."

There was a little twitch at the base of her neck. She was annoyed. Good. I could handle annoyed. "So you can sleep inside the walls of my school, but I can't even know where yours _is?_"

I laughed again but it was bitter rather than the lighter one from moments ago. "Trust me, Gallagher Girl, you wouldn't want to sleep in my school."

A school where there was no privacy, no good faith, no support from anyone besides the few people you went through hell with and were allowed to communicate with on a regular basis. More often than not, roommates were the only ones you saw for weeks on end aside from teachers. They didn't want you to get too close with everybody; it was easier to keep everyone in check if they didn't all get along.

Mr. Solomon was speaking again, testing our observational skills. "Two men are playing chess in the southwest corner of the square. How many moves from checkmate is the man in the green cap, Ms. Baxter?"

The response was quick. "Six."

Gallagher Girl wasn't giving up.

"Just trust me, Gallagher Girl." I sat up straight and looked her in the eyes. I needed her to trust me. I couldn't help her if she didn't. "Can you trust me?"

I willed her to understand what I was asking. When it came down to it, Blackthorne would be irrelevant. It only seemed like a pressing issue now because it was a foreign concept to her. Blackthorne was a part of me, yes, but it was something that I could move on from, that I could disentangle from my reputation in couple of years. My mother on the other hand...I was stuck with her tacked onto my name like a weight that drags you to the bottom of the ocean. I needed Cammie to give me permission to protect her from that, not some dictatorial training ground.

I was still waiting for an answer when Mr. Solomon warned, "There was an ATM behind you, Ms. Alvarez. ATM equals cameras. Tighten it up, ladies."

I shifted and changed the subject. She wasn't ready to give me an answer yet. "Solomon's good."

"Yeah. He is."

I wondered where he was trained. College recruit or another misfit like me?

I was still looking at her as I said, "They say you're good, too."

Cammie's face was from happy. As a pronounced pavement artist, she obviously preferred anonymity and I had just revealed that not only had I heard of her before, plenty of others had, too. If only she knew who the others were.

The use of my name brought me back to the mission at hand. "Okay, Zach," Mr. Solomon said in my ear. "Without turning around, tell me how many windows overlook the square from the west side."

"Fourteen."

After years of traveling with my mother, you learned to pay attention to every detail. Otherwise, you might find yourself at the short end of the stick and her holding all the power.

I returned to my quasi-conversation with Gallagher Girl. "They say you're a real pavement artist."

She was; I'd seen her in action at the Mall. She'd slipped my eyesight a couple of times, a feat that no one was ever able to do. "You know," I continued, "it's probably a good thing we got to tail you in D.C. If you'd been following me, I probably never would have seen you."

I didn't mean to sound like a douche; I meant it as a compliment from spy to spy, but she either misinterpreted or didn't care because without another word she turned away from me and walked away. From a distance, I saw her bump into her friend Bex and knew she'd been passed the quarter. As her partner it was my duty to continue the mission despite any emotional complications and get that quarter from her. As a boy, though, I'd never felt more uncomfortable approaching a girl. I'd hurt her feelings inadvertently and now I wasn't quite ready to face the music.

I was still seated at the gazebo, torn between continuing with the mission or just letting her go off her own when I heard a voice in the comms that I'd never heard before and that most certainly wasn't supposed to be there.

"Cammie, is that you?"

* * *

**Comments? Questions? Feelings? :)**


	15. Chapter 14

**I was hoping to get this chapter out sooner but I got an little bit of writer's block and just got it finished. Also, I'm leaving for vacation in a couple days so I might not be able to update right away. We'll see.**

**DISCLAIMER: Ally Carter owns all. Direct text taken/takes place between CMH pg. 110-118.**

**Enjoy and forgive my errors! :)**

* * *

Chapter 14.

"Hey, Cammie, I thought that was you."

The voice was like the shot of a pistol at the beginning of a race. I heard it, and I knew instinctively that I had to find Cammie. I was up and on my feet without really realizing where I was heading.

"Cammie?" The boy said. "Are you okay?"

The comms unit was silent of anything actually relating to the mission. We were all listening in on the conversation between two people who should really be allowed to have this run-in privately.

I'd never dated anyone, never having the chance to get to know a girl enough to ask her out. I could only imagine how it was for Cammie, running into an ex that she didn't choose to cut out of her life. From what I'd read, they hadn't seen each other for months and I wondered if that was actually a good thing. Perhaps, if she had been allowed to see him before and get some sense of closure, she wouldn't be so shocked now.

When Cammie spoke, her voice seemed smaller and more unsure of itself than usual. "Hi, Josh."

"What are you doing here?" I rolled my eyes as I confirmed that Cammie was, in fact, absent from the square. She must have turned down one of the adjacent streets. Half a minute into conversation with that dweeb and already I was at a loss as to why Cammie liked him. The sound of his voice practically made me gag.

"Oh, it's a...school thing."

Josh didn't respond and I took that to mean that Cammie's school situation was still a sore subject for him. In an effort to keep the conversation from going down a negative road, Gallagher Girl changed the subject. "So, how have you been?"

"Okay, how about you?"

"Okay."

Wow, monosyllabic conversations are always so invigorating.

"So, we're both okay." Josh's voice sounded nervous, but I wasn't particularly concerned with his discomfort levels at the moment. He could go dunk his head in a port-a-potty toilet bowl for all I cared. "Good for us."

Just then, another voice spoke through the comms. It was a girl. "Josh." She said. "Josh, your dad said he could..."

The girl trailed off and I could only assume that she had caught sight of Cammie. By now, I was just a few meters from the last street connecting to the square. I had to remind myself not to rush, not to draw attention to myself.

"Oh my gosh, Cammie! It's great to see you!"

There was some muffled sound on the comms as someone hugged Cammie. "Hi, DeeDee," she said. "It's really...good to see you, too."

I turned the corner of the street and the scene was laid out in front of me. Halfway down the street, the three of them stood as points of some convoluted triangle. Gallagher Girl had her back facing mine and was standing a few feet apart from the two civilians. The Josh kid was sharing a weird look with the girl DeeDee who was donning an overwhelming amount of pink. It looked like a bottle of Pepto Bismol had exploded all over her.

The two of them were obviously hiding something. It was clear in the way they stood just a little too far apart and kept their hands carefully at their sides. If they thought Cammie wouldn't notice, they were wrong. Sometimes, she could be far too observant for her own good.

The three of them were still technically out of earshot but I heard DeeDee through the comms. "We're...I mean...I'm..." This girl wouldn't make it five minutes as a spy. "I'm on the committee for the spring fling - it's a dance...and you know...kind of a big deal..."

She was fumbling for words, trying to get her mind in order, but she lacked the training and the will power to effectively lie. "And Josh is helping me get businesses to donate door prizes and stuff. For the fling. Next Friday night. And -"

It was almost too painful to listen to and I decided to take mercy on DeeDee and especially Cammie who had to be hurting. "Cammie, there you are," I called from at the end of the street. I looked around at the group of them, pretending as though I didn't know what was going on. "I was wondering where you'd disappeared to." I held out my hand to the boy I'd rather be punching right now and said, "I'm Zach."

DeeDee's face brightened like she'd just found out about some amazing inheritance she was being left. She seemed like a nice girl and I had trouble understanding how Josh had managed to snag such great girls like her and Cammie. What tricks did that son of a bitch have up his sleeve?

"Zach," Cammie said in a manner that would have made Madame Dabney proud, "this is DeeDee. And Josh. They're..."

She trailed off, unsure of how to end that sentence, and DeeDee filled in the rest for her in typical American sweetheart style. "We're friends of Cammie's."

Gallagher Girl nodded and said, "Zach and I..."

She was floundering almost as much as DeeDee had been a minute ago. "I go to school with Cammie."

A look of confusion crossed DeeDee's face. "Really?" She said. "I thought it was a girls' school?"

I briefly considered telling her that I _used_ to be a girl, but crossed that thought out. I was already lying so much that when I could tell the truth, I probably should just so I didn't forget what honesty felt like.

"Actually, my school's doing an exchange with Gallagher this semester."

I slipped my hand into Cammie's. It was an impulsive decision and not very well thought out, but I had this idea in my head that it would shake her out of her funk. I didn't like seeing her like this, so off her game and helpless. Cammie was a Gallagher Girl, and she needed to act like one. And if that meant intimating that she and I were together in front of her ex and his rebound, then so be it. In my mind, it was a win-win situation.

"Oh," DeeDee said, her eyes widening with surprise and what could only be described as glee. Her eyes kept bouncing from my face, to Cammie's, and then down to our connected hands. My grip tightened slightly around Cammie's smaller hand, I could feel the quarter that we were supposed to be passing around pressed between our palms. "That's really great!"

This was taking too long. I had to get Cammie out of there and back to the mission at hand. "Cam," I said. It seemed natural to call her by her name and I wanted to do it more - although I was still a little taken with calling her _Gallagher Girl_. "The van's leaving in ten." I looked again at DeeDee and Douchebag. "It was nice meeting you."

"You too," DeeDee said.

My hand slipped smoothly out of Cammie's hold and I headed back down the street to the square with the quarter in my hand. I made a fist around it and headed back to the van. I could hear Gallagher Girl wrapping the awkward conversation with her ex and his new girlfriend. "Oh...well...I'll let you guys get back to your party plans."

"You could come," Josh the Idiot said. "Next Friday. You know, the whole town's gonna be there. You could come if you want."

Why would she want to go to a dance to see you with your new girlfriend? And they call me insensitive.

"And bring Zach," DeeDee added. At least she hadn't forgotten I existed.

"That sounds like fun," Cammie responded. Her voice implied that she felt the exact opposite though I doubted DeeDee or Jimmy noticed. They hadn't been as fixated on her as I had been lately. They hadn't been studying her habits and didn't recognize that she still wasn't fully recovered from her heartbreak last semester. Even though she was strong enough to survive that and worth ten times more than any girl Josh Abrams could hoodwink into calling his own.

She was a Gallagher Girl.

It startled me to realize how quickly I was beginning to think of her as _my_ Gallagher Girl. I couldn't figure out if I thought of her that way because of my initial desire to protect her, or my growing hatred of my mother, or something else and new and ever more frightening altogether.

~.~.~.~

After dinner that night, I stole away into my new dorm room with Grant and Jonas. As Jonas was on the "research & development track", he hadn't been a part of the mission this morning and therefore hadn't heard the awkward and possibly traumatizing run-in that Gallagher Girl had had with her former clandestine lover.

"That's..." Jonas searched his vast vocabulary for the right word and came up with, "rough."

Grant gave a short laugh. "You could say that again. I didn't see it going down but I half expected tears or a passionate reunion."

"And what did it seem like seeing it, Zach?" Jonas asked looking at me through his glasses with slightly magnified eyes.

"Like she was just another normal girl." I sighed. "I can't imagine what she must be feeling."

"Well, one thing's for sure," Grant said. "That dunce is a liability. I mean, if she still has feelings for him and someone is really out to get to her, they might use him as bait to lure her out into the open. Like at that dance next Friday."

The muscles in my shoulders tightened. "Then we'll just have to make sure she doesn't leave the grounds next Friday."

Jonas gave me a skeptical look. "Liz told me that they call her the Chameleon. She knows this school better than even the teachers. If she's determined enough to go, I don't know we can stop her."

"It's simple, really, Jonas," I said. "I just have to beat her at her own game."

"No offense, man, but I don't think Morgan's playing any games." Grant responded. "I think it's just us."

I knew he was right. It sucked to know he was right. It sucked to know that I was deliberately attempting to control Cammie's life without her knowledge. I just hoped that one day she would be able to forget what I was doing now, if not forgive me. The way I saw it, it was okay to deprive her of a few choices now than for her to not have any choices in the future because of my mother.

I couldn't sleep that night with all this weighing on me so I waited until I was sure Grant and Jonas were both out stone cold and crept out of the room. The mansion was dead quiet now that I swear you could have heard a pin dropping in the East Wing from the West Wing. It was peaceful and reminded me of the days long ago when I would sneak into the woods behind the only real childhood home I'd ever known. Those times were so long ago, that most of the memories had faded. I couldn't even recall my dad's face and it made me wonder if he'd ever really been there or even existed or if I had just made him up in my head.

I turned down another hallway and the light of the moon spilled onto the floor before me, the only guidance I had to see my way. And that's when I saw her, staring at the tapestry as if it were some kind of map. Like it would tell her what to do.

And, in a way, isn't that what we're all doing? Waiting for some kind of sign to tell us that we're doing the right thing, choosing the right path. All over the world, people are making decisions blindly without knowing what their outcomes will be. Some have the luxury of having faith that things will work themselves out one way or another. But for people like me - and people like Cammie in that moment - we wait for a sign. We just had to recognize it when it came.

It was then that I believed I'd found mine.

* * *

**I'm sure Zach would love your input on his life story so REVIEW! :D**


	16. Chapter 15

**So it's been a while since my last update. I know. I was just having a really hard time getting this chapter out for some reason. Anyhow, here it is. Hope you like it.**

**Forgive any mistakes, they're unintentional.**

**Disclaimer: direct text taken from CMH pg. 118-119. Takes place pg. 116-122. I own nothing!**

* * *

Chapter 15.

What were the chances that I would run into her here? That the both of us would have trouble falling asleep on this night and walk down this specific hall? Was it coincidence or was it fate?

Did it matter which one it was?

All I knew was that something had led me to this moment. This moment of decision: did I continue to spy for my mother or did I turn my back on her? I couldn't live my life in this limbo anymore. I had to decide. I had to take control of my own life and stop letting others manipulate me.

I'd be lying if this wasn't inspired by Gallagher Girl. I barely knew her and yet she seemed so much more trustworthy than my mother. She was someone that in another life, I might have chosen to be friends with and that actually cared for the people around her, and she didn't deserve to be on Catherine Goode's watch list.

Now, I just had to get her off of it. But how?

I looked at her again. She was still standing in front of that tapestry. Her fingers twitched like she was itching to grab hold of something. I recognized the force inside me now when it pushed me to talk to her and let it have control. I didn't want to fight it.

"You know, I don't think I ever got the rest of my tour."

Gallagher Girl whipped her head around to look at me, obviously shocked that I was there with her. Well, she'd better get used to having me around. I was nominating myself as her knight in shining armor. I smirked at the thought of her being a damsel in distress and me riding in on my white horse to rescue her. Oh yeah, that was manly.

"So what do you say, Gallagher Girl?" I said, walking towards her. I reached the tapestry and peeked behind it because it was obviously more than just a tapestry if she was standing in front of it. "Is this when I get my Cammie Morgan no-passageway-too-secret, no-wall-too-high tour?"

She gaped at me. "How do you know about..."

I gave her an _oh, come on_ look and pointed to myself. "Spy."

I leaned against the wall and watched her become awkward. For a spy-in-training, she really had fidgeting problem.

"So," I said, "that was Jimmy?"

The question had the desired effect. She went still. "Josh." Her voice was hard. Oh dear, had I woken the beast? Ha.

"Whatever." I waved my hand as if to brush the name away from me. Which I kind of did. It was my new least favorite name, beating out even Harry Pitts and Iona Knipl. I looked her in the eye and said, "He's a cutie."

She scowled and rolled her eyes at me, apparently unamused. "What do you want, Zach? If you came to make fun, go ahead," she said. "Mock away."

I took a moment to look at her. Her lips were set in an agitated line and she had a little crinkle between her eyes as she glared up at me. But nothing about her appearance told of the anger with which she was speaking. Her body language effectively ruined her harsh words. "Gee, you know, I would...but you just took the fun out of it."

She huffed and turned to go. "Sorry."

A look flashed across her face and for the first time, I noticed her eyes weren't angry at all. They were sad. I caught her arm and stopped her from walking away. "Hey," I said, a thought crossing my mind. "Why'd you freeze out there today?"

Quietly she replied, "I'm fine. I'm over it."

It sounded rehearsed, like she'd spent hours forcing herself to say those five simple words and willing herself to believe them. And it was precisely that desire for the words to be true that proved they were a complete lie.

"No you aren't, Gallagher Girl. But you will be."

I let her go then, and she walked away without another word. It occurred to me that while I may have just had an epiphany five minutes ago that had changed my perspective on life, the rest of the world wasn't yet clued in. Cammie hadn't realized her own perspective yet and was still searching.

And I was left wondering if she even knew what it was she was looking for.

..^.^..

On Saturday afternoon, while Jonas went to the labs to work on an extra credit assignment, Grant and I took a jog through the woods. We raced to see who made it back to the front doors first, the cold ground hard beneath our feet as our breath fanned out in little clouds of mist in front of us. By the time we called it quits and agreed to a tie, we were both out of breath, the chilly spring air shooting down our throats and piercing our lungs.

And yet, somehow, I'd never felt better.

After dinner that night, we were in the library when Grant snapped his textbook shut. Jonas and I both looked up from our own books with surprised eyes.

"You alright there, hotshot?" Jonas asked, amused.

"Are we seriously going to act like the proverbial shit ball isn't about to hit the proverbial fan?"

Jonas scrunched his eyebrows together. "I don't think you need to say proverbial twice there. Or at all, really."

"I'll say things as I want to say them, thank you very much, Grammar King." Grant replied smartly. He turn his gaze on me. "Seriously, man, we need a plan."

"A plan of what?" I whispered, conscious of the fact that we were in Gallagher's library and teenage girls tend to spy and gossip even when they aren't being trained as spies. "Defense? Attack? I really don't see what good having a plan against _my mother_ will do. She'll trample all over it."

Grant shook his head. "You underestimate us."

"No," I said definitively. "I just know my mother."

"Regardless of estimations and crazy parents," Jonas interjected, "Grant's right. We can't allow ourselves to be rendered useless due to our inability to form a united front together."

"Look, I didn't tell you guys about my mother to get you involved. I told you so that you would know how dangerous this is so you would know to stay out of it."

"That's just stupid," Grant said. "You can't expect us to let you have all the fun."

My eyes widened in incredulity. "You think any of this is fun?"

My voice was louder than I had intended and there was a slight echo from the high ceiling of the library hall. I heard a thump a few bookshelves down as someone banged their knee on the underside of a table. Grant shifted back in his seat in shock. "I didn't mean it like that, Goode. It was a joke."

I huffed. "If that's your idea of a joke, Grant..." I shook my head and pushed my chair back to stand up. Grant and Jonas sat in silence as I packed up my things. "Whatever. I'll see you guys back in the dorm room."

I left the two of them in the library and ambled the halls for a bit, trying to clear my head. My bag weighed heavily on my shoulders, stuffed full of textbooks and notebooks full of knowledge but suddenly I felt completely devoid of any intellect.

Who was I to think I could handle my mother? Who was I to think that I could beat her at her own game? And who was Grant to expect that of me?

A sound of irritation escaped my lips, and my pace increased. I didn't realize where my feet were taking me until I turned a corner and found myself at the entrance of the chapel. Was this a sign that I should call upon a higher power for help?

I laughed a little at the idea of any God giving me aid. I mean, look at who my mother was and then ask me again if I believed in the righteous justice of the Lord. But I supposed it couldn't hurt to cover all of my bases, so I walked to the front row of pews and sat down on the wooden seat, placing my bag to the side. I kneeled on the cushion and leaned my arms against the low-slung railing in front of me. Looking up at the stained-glass window situated in the wall before me, I searched for the right words to say.

After a couple minutes of futile thinking, I gave up and sat back down on the seat behind me. I ran my hands through my hair roughly and groaned. "What the hell is wrong with me?"

There was a chuckle behind me and I spun around to see Jonas in the pew behind me. "Well, for starters, you're swearing in a chapel."

"I'd say that's more of a symptom than a cause."

He grinned slightly and then formed a serious expression onto his face. "So, hear me out before you get all judgmental, okay?"

"I'll make no such prom-"

"Just do it, Zachary, because I really need for you to hear this even if you think you don't want to."

I gave him a hard look but stayed silent.

He nodded. "Alright. Thanks." He said. Nervously, he pushed his glasses up his nose. "So, I know you want Grant and I to let you handle all of this business with your mom by yourself just like I know that you aren't telling us the full story. But you can't edge us out of this because-because that's just not right. We're your friends, through thick and thin, and whether you like it or not we're going to help you out. Even if we have to do it behind your back."

I opened my mouth to speak but stopped at his admonishing glare. "So, stop being an idiot, Zachary Goode. You've already admitted that your mother is less than trustworthy. The next step is to decide what to do with that knowledge. Are you going to let yourself be a rut in the road like Janie Stark or are you going to do something and change your circumstances? Either way, Grant and I will support your decision. We just want you to include us. Don't ice us out because you're afraid what we'll think. I mean, hello! Grant's mom was KGB in the eighties and my dad is under constant watch by the FBI because of his alleged connections with the Chicago Outfit. We're hardly in positions to be judging."

He laid a hand and my shoulder, and it struck me that Jonas was far more mature than I'd given him credit for (I mean, he was quoting _Their Eyes Were Watching God_ while giving me a life lesson). I'd always thought that he was a little bit naive but now I realized that he just had a far more mellow view on life. Where I saw the glass half empty, and Grant saw it half full, Jonas saw it as just a glass of water. Nothing less, nothing more.

"I don't know how to think of a plan, Jonas." I whispered. "I haven't the slightest clue where to start. My mother, she's...my mother."

"I know."

"She's cruel and manipulative but I'm not sure I can make myself just betray her."

"You don't have to if you don't want to."

I looked at him, my eyes earnest. "But I do, Jonas. And that's what scares me so much. She's my mother and I love her, but at the same time, there's this part of me that hates her so much sometimes it feels like I'll explode from containing all of my anger.

"And she's always going on about her plans for me and - and I just want her to shut up. I don't want her life. I don't want to be a traitor. I'm terrified of becoming her."

Jonas's grip on my shoulder tightened. "You won't, Zach. You're too good. I mean, look at what you're doing right now. You're willing to risk everything you know for Cameron Morgan, a girl you barely know."

I rolled my eyes. "Tell me about it. I don't even know why my mom's so interested in her."

We pondered that for a couple of minutes, sitting in the silence of the chapel. Jonas glanced at the stained-glass window and smiled. "That's pretty."

"You know, sometimes I question your masculinity." I said and he laughed.

"You're a real hoot, you know that, Goode? Come on, let's head back to our room. Grant's waiting there to apologize to you."

As we exited the chapel and started on our way across the school, I grabbed Jonas by the elbow. He stopped and looked at me expectantly.

"You're a good friend, Jonas."

He smiled widely. "I know. But it's still nice to hear."

Grant was sitting cross-legged on his bed when we got to our room, elbows on his knees and leaning his head in his hands. He watched me with trepidation as I set my things down.

I took a deep breath and clapped my hands together. "So..."

"So." He repeated. Our eyes met and then we were laughing, although at what I wasn't sure.

When we calmed down, Grant said, "Look, man, I was out of line earlier. I shouldn't be pushing you to be making all these decisions. You're going through a lot already, and the last thing you need is more pressure from me."

"It's cool." I waved him off. "You're just trying to help. I overreacted."

He shook his head. "No, no. I should have given you your space. And from now on, Jonas and I are going to respect your decisions. Whether you decide to do anything or not, we'll back you."

There was a lump in my throat and now I was questioning my own masculinity. "Thanks, Grant." I said hoarsely.

He smiled at me a little shakily and then we both awkwardly cleared our throats, trying to dispel this emotion-ridden moment.

"I was wrong, though," I said once I was sure I wasn't about to embarrass myself by tearing up. "You were right. We need a plan."

"Okay, then." Grant leaned forward and Jonas crept closer. "What's the plan then?"

Taking another deep breath, I took a moment to build my courage. There was a feeling in the pit of my stomach that things were changing, something was redefining itself. It was then that I realized that something was me. I was no longer the little boy being tugged across the country by his mysterious mother. I wasn't the kid that got sent off to a school he was reluctant to attend or the one that was being bullied into the 'family business'. I was Zachary Goode, age 16, and I was the maker of my own destiny.

And with that realization, my friends and I began to form the plan that would cement me in my new position.

Zachary Goode: double agent.

* * *

**Okay, so I have a couple of questions that I could really use your guys' help answering:**

**1. What are Grant and Jonas's last names?**

**2. What are their codenames (including Zach's).**

**Give me your opinion and/or any textual evidence to these questions! I would greatly appreciate it.**


	17. Chapter 16

**So, I've been AWOL these past _several_ months and I deeply apologize for that. I have no excuse. I was feeling a little overwhelmed with school and everything going on in my life this past year and I'm sorry that you guys paid the consequence for it.**

**I'm sorry if you feel like this is a bit of a filler. I originally intended to get the dance into this chapter but it didn't feel right to just graze over the week leading up to it (especially because we don't see much of that week in the actual book). Next chapter I promise will have the dance. Or at least part of it.**

**AND IT WON'T TAKE ME ANOTHER EIGHT MONTHS TO UPDATE.**

* * *

Chapter 16.

Perhaps it was the reassurance of knowing that Grant and Jonas had my back for better or worse, or perhaps it was the anticipation of seeing Cammie after finally laying to outline of a plan to keep her safe, but I woke up refreshed on Monday. Jonas was still asleep like a log on the bed next to mine but Grant was already up.

"Morning, sunshine," he said. "I was just leaving for a run. You in?'

I wiped the sleep out of my eyes. "Yeah, just give me a sec."

After we were both dressed for running, we slipped out of the room, careful not to wake the Sleeping Beauty that was drooling on his pillow. Our room was in the East Wing along with the other boys' rooms and there was a small open space off of which the rooms branched. As Grant and I walked across it, two of the other doors opened. Years at Blackthorne had managed to force the habit of a morning run in a number of us. Jonas was one of the few that could let that part of himself go.

I nodded my acknowledgement to the others exiting their rooms but didn't stop for them. Morning runs were supposed to clear your head, not fill them with nonsense and those boys were full of nonsense. The only thing they had been able to talk about since arriving at Gallagher was the physical attributes of the girls.

Tina Walters, a sophomore, apparently had the best ass while Judy Hammond, a senior, was rocking in the rack department. These "facts" among others had been decided upon by the junior and senior boys over a late-night rendezvous. In our room. While we were trying to study.

It was frustrating and irritating and I had wanted to whack them over the head with my oversized copy of _Polarization, Alignment, and Orientation in Atomic Collisions. _There was something I found incredibly immature about the practice of dissecting individuals and categorizing them based on appearance alone. I know, I know; it's incredibly hypocritical of me to say that considering what career path I was on but to me personally, appearances were easily changed - a person's character not so much.

"Oh, no," Grant said. "You're gonna go all pensive on me, aren't you?"

I rolled my eyes. "What the hell makes you say that?"

He shrugged. "You've got that look on your face."

"I haven't got a look."

"Whatever you say, man. Just let me know when you're ready to get some balls."

I made a move to put him in a headlock but he took off, racing down the halls and out of the mansion.

We passed a couple of other boys on their own habitual runs and took a turn around the lake before making our way back to our room to get ready for the day. Jonas was up by now, typing away at his laptop still in his flannel pajamas, papers spread all over his bed.

"How's that plan for world domination coming, Jonas?" Grant joked.

"Hardy har har." Jonas mumbled, to distracted to come up with a response. "It's an extra credit project. I really want to ace it."

"Really?" Grant chuckled. "Jonas Anderson, an overachiever. Who'd have thought?"

Jonas - forever the naive boy with glasses and a heart of gold despite his education - blushed.

There was a knock on the door and Dr. Steve said in a muffled voice through the wooden door, "Up and at 'em, boys. The day is starting and you'd best be ready!"

"Yes, sir." Grant responded. We heard Dr. Steve laugh through the door. It was jovial and playful and completely unlike the man I had known for the past four and a half years. That man deserved an Emmy.

A half hour later (after Grant and I had both washed off and Jonas had been pulled away from his research on nullifying the effects of radiation in controlled environments), we finally made it to the dining hall. The rest of the school had woken up by now and the hall was bustling as people gabbed and jibbed in Farsi.

I noticed Mr. Solomon chatting with Mr. Smith on the other side of the room. He never looked my way but I had the distinct impression that he knew exactly where I was and what I was doing. Grant nudged me, a questioning look in his eyes but I shrugged off his concern. I was being paranoid, assuming that since my mother was manipulative with a hidden agenda then everyone else was guilty of the same crimes.

I was quiet through breakfast and class. I noticed in COW that Cammie seemed to be distracted as well. Her knuckles rapped against the wooden surface of the desk, and her face was turned toward the window rather than Mr. Smith's introductory lecture on the economic differences around the world and how to use those disparities to our advantage.

At the end of class, I caught up with Cammie. "What's the matter, Gallagher Girl?" I asked her. She whipped her head around to look at me with wide eyes. "You seem...jumpy."

She ignored me and continued to our next class, Culture and Assimilation. After we had all settled into our seats, Madame Dabney began her speech.

"The all-school exam..." She exclaimed. Her voice was ethereal and seemed to linger in the air with a certain quality of wonder. "Ooh, ladies...and gentlemen. In all my years of teaching at this fine institution, I have never had the opportunity to organize such an exciting educational experience."

Her words got the attention of the entire class, even Eva and Tina pried their ogling eyes away from Grant who was lounging in the seat between the two of them.

Madame Dabney continued. "This Friday evening, all students in grades eighth through twelve will be invited to a formal examination." She looked around at the class as if expecting gasps. "A ball, ladies and gentlemen." Her voice was undeniably joyful now. It bubbled with enough excitement to carbonate an ocean of soda. "There's going to be a ball!"

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed the look of panic that came across Jonas's face. Being the introvert that he was, he often felt more at home having a conversation with disc drives than humans. Now he'd be in for a night of small talk.

"Tomorrow during this time, you will each be fitted for a gown...and tuxedos. On Friday evening you will be asked to participate in a cumulative examination - a night that will encompass everything we teach. And you _will_ be expected to dance."

I could by the increased tension in Jonas's shoulders that his panic had increased tenfold. Grant hid his with a small grin, but I could tell that he, too, was far from celebrating. Of course we had taken dance classes at Blackthorne (they were nothing if not thorough) and had been taking the classes here, but that didn't change the fact that Jonas had arms like linguini and Grant secretly despised ballroom dancing.

But based on the expressions of the girls in the room, Grant and Jonas were alone in their panic. My gaze fell on Cammie where she sat three seats down from me. Her eyes were set. There was no excitement; only expectance.

Oh, crap.

..^.^..

"_Shit_."

Jonas was sitting with his head in his hands. We had just returned to our room after dinner and my poor friend had finally succumbed to his panic. Grant was still donning his manly facade and working out his frustration on a punching bag in the barn.

"Jonas, it really won't be that bad." I said, stifling my laughter.

He snorted. "Yeah, right. Don't you remember last year when I was partnered up with Austin last year and he ended up in the infirmary with three broken fingers."

"To be fair, he's a block of muscle that weighs twice as much as you and Maver kept yelling at you to dip him."

He flopped over so he was lying backdown on his bed. "Exactly. I have the comparative muscle mass of a sloth."

I laughed and Jonas threw a pillow at me. It missed.

"Seriously though, man," Jonas said, voice bordering on a whine, "help me out here. Distract me from the debacle I undoubtedly will be in four days."

"Alright, alright. No need to get your panties in a bunch there, princess." He glared at me but there was nothing fear-inspiring in it. Jonas was all bark and no bite. His anger dissipated as quickly as it formed.

"In fact, I do have something I could use your help in." I told him.

His interest was piqued. "I need some help breaking through some firewalls."

"Gallagher firewalls."

I smirked. "Some of those, too."

I continued to be perturbed by my mother's interest in the Morgan's, and I thought that perhaps the answer as to why lay in her past - a past that I assumed was detailed on the CIA database. I said as much to Jonas, and he agreed instantly.

He had whipped out his laptop in seconds, the maniacal look that always possessed him when he started a new project cementing itself on his face. Suddenly, I was no longer the man with the idea but the errand boy.

"Zach, grab me a pen and pad." I knew from experience not to grab him just any pen and pad; he needed _his_ felt pen and yellow legal pad. As I set it down next to him, he had another request. "Grab my pillow off the ground, will ya? Oh, and do you think they have cookies in the kitchen? I'm really in the mood for some oatmeal raisin."

"I'll go check."

He called after me as I headed to the door. "Oh, and milk would be fantastic!"

I shut the door behind me, cognizant of the fact that Jonas hated chatter while he was working. I shook my head at the extreme nature of my friends. Jonas went from being a softie to demanding. And Grant...well, he was Grant.

I felt like a sissy admitting I was lucky to have them.

The halls were still buzzing with the news of the examination. Rumors were flying around like shrapnel on a battlefield. Would we have to complete a twelve-step obstacle course including a ring of fire as the grand finale? Fight off terrorists? Concoct antidotes to poisoned appetizers?

Each rumor was grander than the last - far grander than the exam could ever truly hope to be. I assumed. I hoped. Gallagher didn't seem like the kind of school that decided whether a student passed an exam based on whether they were still alive or not.

I was halfway to the kitchen when I figure appeared at the other end of the hall coming toward me. It was Mr. Solomon. Instinctively, I wanted to duck behind the statue of Amelia Earhart but I stifled my desire.

I could practically hear Grant saying "Be cool, Zach. Be cool."

"Mr. Goode, taking a nighttime stroll?" Mr. Solomon said when we were within a few feet of each other.

"Running an errand for a friend, sir." I replied.

He nodded in understanding. I again got the impression that although his eyes never strayed from me, he saw everything in this hall. Possibly in the school.

"I am curious to know, Mr. Goode, what kind of game you think you're playing."

I stared at him, a little shocked. "I'm not playing any games, sir."

"Then perhaps you need to reevaluate your work ethic. Your team is sloppy."

Without another word he continued past me, leaving me in the lurch.

It took me a couple minutes to remember I was supposed to be finding cookies for my hungry hacker.

When I returned to our room ten minutes later with smuggled cookies and milk, Jonas barely acknowledged my entrance. I knew I had to tell them about my encounter with Mr. Solomon - I had promised not to shut them out. I decided to wait for Grant to return; it was wisest not to interrupt Jonas when he was in the zone.

I didn't have to wait long. Grant came in a couple minutes later, his hair wet from showering and his towel slung over his shoulder.

"Hey, man," I said.

He grunted and ran a hand through his hair. "I've decided not to view dancing as torture."

"That's good."

"Instead, it's an opportunity."

"Exactly." I had no idea where he was going with this.

"An opportunity to practice the art of balance and memorization and coordination. You know, some of those dance moves can be _pretty_ tricky."

"Plus there's the added benefit of getting to dance with an actual girl this time around and not Clive."

He pointed at me, his usual grin reclaiming its spot on his face. "_That_ is a great point."

From his desk, Jonas shushed us.

I put my serious face on. "I, uh, I have something to tell you."

"Shoot." Grant said.

"I ran into Mr. Solomon earlier." I told him. "I'm pretty sure he's got an idea of what we're doing."

"There's no way. _We_ barely even know what we're doing." Grant laughed a little but it didn't cover the fact that he meant what he said. We were kind of just treading water in a shark-infested ocean when we should be swimming to shore.

"Maybe that's why he said we're sloppy."

Grant's lips thinned. If there was one thing that truly upset Grant Newman, it was people criticizing his skills.

"Well, then," he said, looking at me with a dark and mischievous look in his eye that could only be acquired from attending Blackthorne. "I guess we better up the ante, shoudn't we?"

* * *

**I just want to thank you guys for being so patient with me and not giving up on this story. You seriously rock.**

**Sorry for any grammatical/punctuational/spelling/plot errors. I do my best but I'm not perfect.**

**P.S. Someone asked me if I was ever going to post the GG6 sequel to my GG5: Here Comes the Spy. Here's my answer: not right now. I might do at some point in the future, but considering how difficult of a time I'm having updating two stories, I don't want to add a third one to the plate. Hopefully, I will get to GG6 one day, but it probably won't be until I at least finish Just Turn.**


End file.
